


Sheriarty September

by Tigresse



Series: Sheriarty All The Way [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, Love, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-22 12:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 45,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: For all 30 days September there will be a Sheriarty drabble/short story posted. Though mainly centred around Sherlock and Jim, there would be additional pairings here and there and some *wink* threesomes too! Stories are mostly fun reads which are unrelated to reach other, a smidge of angst and darkness might be hidden somewhere.Chapter 25 is explicit and pure smut ;-)





	1. Day 1 - Old Married Couple (Prompt - Established Relationship)

Jim was in a bad mood. 

As he ordered assassinations, organized heists, instructed arms traders, closed real estate deals, took royalties from casinos, laundered money and prepared extortion plots, his mind was fixated on one thing. His relationship with Sherlock Holmes. 

They had been together for ten years now. From young men of thirty and thirty-one (Sherlock was a year older), they were now stepping into middle age at forty and forty-one. A decade had passed and the two former-nemesis and cutthroat enemies had gone from becoming frienemies to lovers to proper couplehood. They even wore matching rings now. Their families and friends knew, Mycroft had accepted it as well, and there was an unspoken agreement between them that they would never get into each other’s hair. That end of the deal hadn’t been hard to keep up as the world was large enough for them to operate in their separate playgrounds. It was the other end of the deal, their status as long term partners, which bothered the criminal mastermind. 

It had become so boring. Sex was still good but it lacked the charm and spark of the earlier days. They no longer engaged in open combat so they didn’t even discuss their work any longer. Topics of conversation had shrunk to discussions about the government’s latest dismal policies or the premier league matches and sometimes even mundane stuff like groceries and expenses and laundry. 

How did they come to this? He still loved the detective but then….something had changed.

They would wake up, sometimes not even together, and Jim would go to work while Sherlock took up a case or an experiment. They would no longer text each other during the day unless Sherlock had locked himself out of the flat and needed the spare key Jim carried or Jim had forgotten something at home and had to ask Sherlock to hand it over to the chauffeur who would come to pick it up. 

At five thirty Jim would come back home, Sherlock would mostly answer the door (unless he was out for a case investigation), Jim would ask him for a cup of tea and Sherlock would not even reply to that. He’d simply slip into the kitchen and later leave it by the bedside and go back to his experiment or on some phone call with the Scotland Yard. He no longer cuddled Jim and asked him how his day had been. 

Evenings were about checking mails and responding to messages, Sherlock sitting on the chair with his eyed glued to the phone and Jim lying on the couch with his laptop open on his lap. He wished Sherlock would play chess with him like they used to before.

Then dinner, then bed, sometimes Sherlock would be delayed so Jim slept earlier, sometimes Jim had late night calls so Sherlock would doze off on the couch. Sex was mostly reserved for weekends or some rare mornings when they woke up at the same time.

Wake up next day, same routine again, rinse repeat. 

“No zing, no spice in life,” Jim grumbled. 

“Boss?” Sebastian asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“Nothing tiger,” Jim said dismissively as he stared at his laptop screen without really seeing anything. A weird idea began to form in his head. Trial separation. Yes, they needed to do a trial separation! Give each other space and time to think through things. Maybe even take on new partners and see if they missed the former flame too much. Or simply travel to some faraway place and not be in touch for months, do their own things, be their own people. Yeah, that would be the only way to beat the ennui, to kill the monotony and humdrum of life they had become so unwittingly caught in. Jim sighed and made plans in his head to tell Sherlock he wanted time apart. 

Not that he didn’t care how Sherlock would react. He just cared a lot more about the drudgery his life had been reduced to. He was a genius, a mastermind, someone used to a life filled with adventure, not routine. 

Sherlock would have to understand. 

***

Sherlock had just solved a complicated case and received kudos from Mycroft and a Parliament member. Normally that should have made him happy, made him feel accomplished. Instead he was curt with an ecstatic John, snubbed a smiley Lestrade and snarled at the cabbie. “Midlife crisis,” Andersen said to John and Lestrade, biting back a grin, “Or trouble of a different kind with Moriarty.” 

“Now that’s domestic,” John laughed, “It’s something Sherlock has to handle on his own I’m afraid.” 

Normally Sherlock grumbled a lot when he was bored, irritated with people or frustrated at not being able to solve a case. His grumbling and muttering increased even more when he didn’t have a case or had to do some boring stuff around the house. But his bad moods used to normally cease as the day went on he got busy with work, his experiments or started some interactions with clients or his friends. He would definitely feel better as Jim returned home from work and asked him for some tea. At last he would be able to have an intelligent conversation with someone and that somewhat cheered him up. 

That day however was an exception and he kept grumbling, fretting and fuming all the way to the apartment he now shared with Jim, and the annoyance intensified in his head even as the clock struck five-thirty. 

Jim no longer gazed at stars with him. Jim no longer tried kinky sex with him. Instead he made mundane and dreadfully boring comments like ‘we are out of milk’ and ‘what’s for dinner’. 

As he walked into their apartment and spotted Jim’s coffee mug still on the side table, a strangled sound of frustration came out of him. Couldn’t the man put things away in the right places? Couldn’t he at least wash his coffee mug like he used to do before? Was it the same man who used to nag Sherlock to keep their place tidy and now that Sherlock had gotten used to a clean and organized house, Jim had stopped doing his part in its upkeep. 

They had become an old married couple. Unfortunate, but true all the same. All those things that had attracted them to each other no longer happened between them at all. 

Sherlock sat down on a couch and his jaw hardened. Enough! The man he had fallen in love with was no longer there. He had been replaced by someone who was a workaholic with little interest in Sherlock, someone who didn’t walk the talk anymore and who kept taking him for granted day in and day out. He wouldn’t stand for this, he simply wouldn’t. It was perhaps best if they maintained separate residences from now on. Sherlock had purchased 221B Baker street and Mrs Hudson was still around and keeping it just the way he had left it. He could walk in there and start living like he used to before, like a detached bachelor. He earned more than enough to be able to afford a life of his own, he didn’t need Jim to pay his bills.

He would meet Jim once in two weeks, spend a weekend with him, maybe distance would make the heart go fonder that way. Perhaps their sex life would take a turn for the better and they would start talking like friends again. Meeting once in a blue moon would make them miss each other and Jim would actually greet him excitedly with some details of a crime rather than the staid and dour ‘Get me a cup of tea’. 

Yes, this was what he had to do. He had to tell Jim that while it wasn’t over, there had to be some changes in their current arrangement. He was sure he had feelings for Jim and those wouldn’t go away ever, but living with him under the same roof was not working out.

He looked at the clock on the living room wall. It was five-forty pm now. Jim Moriarty would be home any moment.

The doorbell rang a few seconds later. 

Sherlock walked to the door a bit slower than usual and opened the door, preparing his ‘speech’. 

Jim stood there, looking unusually grim. He had been preparing for this moment as well, the words swirling and twirling in his head.

Their eyes met and locked together for a long moment. Both men opened and closed their mouths at least once.

Then Jim cleared his throat and stepped inside, shrugging off his coat and scarf, “Get me a cup of tea.” 

Sherlock didn’t reply. He closed and door and quietly slipped into the kitchen.


	2. Day 2 - Sign of Three (Prompt - A/B/O Universe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jawn something terrible has happened. Jim is here, he’s been poisoned.”

John had been in surgery for nearly thirteen hours that day and a further five hours had been devoted to consultation and a small medical seminar. It was one of the most tiring and longest days at work and by the time he had come home, he was ready to pass out for ten hours. Thankfully Mary had prepared a nice simple dinner for him and after tucking into it, he fell face down on the bed and was promptly out of it. 

After what felt like only a few minutes, his wife was shaking him awake. Still out of depth, he stared at her without actually seeing her, and mumbled, “Whatizzit?” 

He didn’t have the strength to clear the fog of sleep so Mary shook him harder, then splashed some cold water on his face. John cursed loudly and sat up with a yelp, angry as a fireball, and was about to snap at Mary when she said gently, “John, sorry to do this. I had been trying to wake you up for almost ten minutes. Please call Sherlock, he has been calling you like crazy for the past few minutes. When you didn’t answer, he texted me, see, he’s written ‘Mary I have two requests. If John is awake ask him to call me this instant’…..and ehm….he added this….. ‘If he is asleep, wake him up and repeat first request’. Please call the poor fellow back, it seems like an emergency.” 

John felt like pulling his hairs out, “Mary Mary Mary, please no, not again.” 

“John, don’t do this.” 

“The last emergency he called me for was to help him find his harpoon.” 

“He is your friend, you love him, you want the best for him.” 

“I do, I really do. But he’s eccentric, for all you know he’s calling me to make him a cup of tea.” 

“Fine,” Mary huffed, “If you won’t go, then I will.” 

“No,” John got out of bed reluctantly, “You stay with Rosie. I will go. If it’s something silly and I don’t really have much to do then I might just crash there in my old room okay?” 

“By all means okay,” she said with a smile, “Listen, it’s weekend so Jim will be there as well. I have something for him, here, take this and give it to him.” 

John looked at her, appalled, “I do understand that you adore Sherlock like a brother. But…..Why do you like that psychopath?” 

“Darling husband,” Mary answered with a fond smile, handing him his clothes and a toothbrush, “I just do.” 

***

As soon as John had reached 221B Baker street, he called Sherlock. “I am downstairs, just open the door because I don’t have a key to this place anymore. And there better be a good reason why I was woken up after two measly hours of sleep.” 

Moments later heavy footsteps descended the staircase and the door was yanked open. There stood Sherlock, looking as pale as the white shirt he was wearing over a pair of jeans. His hairs were dishevelled, his eyes sleepless and puffy, but there were no signs of being ‘high’. 

John’s normally strong nerves faltered for a moment. This did look serious and he wondered if it had something to do with Mrs Hudson or Lestrade or Sherlock himself. He was about to ask when Sherlock grabbed him and pulled him inside, mumbling nervously. “Jawn, something terrible has happened. Jim is here, he’s been poisoned.” He paused and John grabbed his hand tighter, suddenly feeling terrible for taking things so lightly. “He came to the flat after dining with an old aide and suddenly he started to throw up. He was saying he’s giddy and nauseous and there are strange cramps in his body. They poisoned him Jawn, they killed my poor Jim, he is going to die on me and I won’t be able to do anything.” 

“Sherlock you should have taken him to Barts….” 

“Where he faked his suicide? And give it all away?” 

“Oh God Sherlock, it’s a matter of saving a life!” 

“Then save him! That’s why I called you.” 

John had long forgiven Moriarty. The day Sherlock had told him he had feelings for the criminal and his feelings were returned, the good doctor had decided to include Jim on the list of people he only wished the best for. And now he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to save the man his best friend loved and let down Sherlock in the worst possible way. 

“Come on,” he said bravely, “Let’s look at him first. But if he needs help which is beyond me, I shall call for that ambulance.” 

“Okay,” Sherlock replied nervously 

***

John walked into the room and saw a tiny figure curled on the bed, looking even smaller than his usual waifish self, groaning and retching. 

“Jim,” he quickly sat down next to the criminal, “Jim please cooperate with me. I need to check your vitals. Try and tell me what’s going on.” 

“Dr Watson….” Jim began in a voice John didn’t recognize, it was so pathetically soft, vulnerable and broken. As he checked Jim’s eyes, pulse, heart rate, used his stethoscope to check his chest and back, felt up and down his stomach and kept listening to all that the brunette described to him amidst dry heaves and wheezing breaths, his hawkish instincts as a medical practitioner gave him the easiest diagnosis he had ever made. He looked at Sherlock who was standing in one corner of the room and biting his nails and smiled wickedly at his friend. 

“Sign of three.” 

Jim didn’t get that answer but the detective did. He had after all given a similar message to John and Mary on their wedding day. Sherlock looked astounded as he processed it and his jaw dropped as if he had swallowed a boiling frog. He opened his mouth to speak but no sounds came out of him. For the first time in his life John had the satisfaction of watching his friend speechless and unprepared. “But…but…but….” The detective stammered, “How can that be….okay technically I know how it happened but how did it really happen? I always use protection, especially when Jim is in heat. Not even once have we done it without…..have we Jimmy?” 

“Condoms fail sometimes Sherlock,” John grinned. 

“Bastards,” Jim snarled even in this condition, “Talking about condoms while I am dying.” 

“No you are not,” John said, “You are pregnant Omega, you are certainly not dying. You are creating a life in there.” He patted Jim’s stomach. 

“But I feel so terrible….” 

“First trimester is a bit hard for many mothers. You have dehydrated yourself with all the throwing up and you ate spicy food, which gave you heartburn on top of that. The nausea and dizziness is normal. Plenty of fluids, rest and no criminal activity, that’s my advice.” 

Sherlock jumped on the bed, kissed Jim on the lips and then gave John a tight hug, leaning over Jim’s form. “I am going to be a daddy,” the detective beamed. 

“Will a C-section hurt much?” Jim asked. Now he was biting his nails. 

“Maybe you won’t need one,” John said, “Don’t worry, you will be fine and so will be junior. Oh and yeah, Mary sent this for you.” 

Jim took the package and opened it, eyes widening when he saw a book about pregnancy and childbirth in omega males, complete with a diet chart for all three trimesters. This shocked even John, who had no idea how his wife was in the know. 

“Give him oral hydration,” he said as he got up, “Or else I will put him on IV, which he hates. Nothing but slops and semi liquid diet for two days. Total bed rest. I’ll come back day after.” 

“So I am not poisoned,” Jim asked, “I am not dying.” 

“Nope. You will be fine soon. Sherlock, take care of him, I shall see myself out.” 

As John left the room he heard Sherlock and Jim bickering about who would be the stay at home dad for the baby’s first few years. 

***

“How on earth did you know Mary?” John asked as his wife answered the door. 

“A woman’s instincts my dear husband,” Mary laughed triumphantly once her husband assured her Jim and Sherlock were fine and the former’s pregnancy was confirmed, “A jealous woman does better research than FBI, a scorned woman kills far more ruthlessly than a criminal and a mother sniffs out another mother’s pregnancy by simply looking at their general shift in moods and appetite.”

“Well,” John shrugged, “I certainly am glad that Rosie will soon have a companion to play with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim is still a criminal in this one. He might retire now or take a sabbatical and come back after the childbirth but for a change I haven't portrayed him as an ex-criminal mastermind!


	3. Day 3 "I Wanna Watch" (Prompt - Christmas/Gifts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas gifts are being exchanged but someone isn't happy

“Do we have to do this?” Jim grumbled. 

“Yeah, do we really?” Sherlock complained. 

Mrs Hudson looked at the two boys sitting cross legged on the floor next to the Christmas tree, sulking like seven-year old’s, and bit back a chuckle. “Of course, we have to do this boys. I kept your secret for as long as it took James to get a complete pardon from the law and become an advisor to the British government and start his own legit business here, didn’t I? All those times I lied to Mycroft, to Lestrade to various scary looking men who came to ask if Moriarty was living here, all those times I chased them away using my old age as a shield. I think you owe me one.” 

Two dark heads nodded and she left them to go downstairs, just as John, Molly, Andersen and Sebastian Moran walked in. “They are upstairs, sulking,” she winked at them. 

John rolled his eyes. 

Sebastian giggled. 

Molly snickered. 

Andersen looked rather edgy and twitchy. Somehow he didn’t seem to be his usual, normal self. 

Half an hour later the little group were seated around the fireplace, drinking and chatting, and having a good time while Sherlock and Jim tried their best to keep up a pleasant, accommodating, ‘good host’ side. It wasn’t half bad, they agreed as they whispered into each other’s ears, and as soon as the gifts were opened, Mycroft and Lestrade would take them out for dinner. End of the 221B house party, phew!

“You guys look horny,” Andersen said as he gave them a strange look, “Need some privacy gentlemen?” 

“The last man to needle Jim is now a laptop bag,” Sherlock said in a nonplussed voice, “I suggest you cut down the banter before you join him.” 

Andersen quickly stepped back. 

Moments later Mycroft entered with a face like an upturned stew-pot, clearly unhappy at being forced to be social for Christmas. But he couldn’t say no to Lestrade, his partner for over a year, and as long as Lestrade was hell bent on doing something, the elder Holmes (unhappily but willingly) went along with it. 

“Let’s open the gifts now,” Molly said cheerfully. 

“Yeah let’s,” Greg Lestrade sat down beside her. 

They had innovated the Secret Santa concept this year and asked everyone to drop a chit with their preferred gift into the bowl. Everyone had picked up a chit each and then a common pool of funds was created and gifts were purchased from it. It was John’s idea so that folks like Mycroft or Jim didn’t end up giving them embarrassingly expensive gifts while the rest felt small about their lesser financial prowess. 

Molly had got a beautiful mink and a pair of UGG boots. John got a jumper (again) and a new laptop. Greg Lestrade had been hankering for a marble Taj Mahal replica and Sherlock had somehow managed to get someone to fly one down from Agra. Mrs Hudson got a new handbag and a crockery set, which she was very pleased with. Mycroft being Mycroft, he had asked for a set of books that had taken even a resourceful man like Jim three months to locate and half a month to convince the previous owner to part with them. Sebastian had a set of ivory handled daggers straight from the heart of China and a miniature tiger soft toy (Jim did that to tease him). 

Sherlock had asked for a couple of bodies and some rare poisonous chemicals but for obvious reasons those requests had been turned down. He was happy enough with what the group had given him as substitutes. One was a new Belstaff Milford Coat in navy blue. Sherlock was fond of the charcoal grey one he had earlier but this new one pleased him to no end. He also got a new phone, with a pre-added set of numbers on it, which gave away the fact that Mycroft had bought it personally. 

Jim got the most number of gifts, surprisingly. Mrs Hudson gave him a beginner’s cookbook, since the former criminal had expressed a desire to learn some culinary arts. Molly gave him a book ‘Why Men Lie and Women Cry’, a hint to their short-lived affair. Sebastian gave him a knife throwing set and board. Mycroft and Greg gave him a tie and a tie-pin shaped like Sherlock’s silhouette and John, Sherlock and Andersen had gifted him a ultra-light 98 sq inch head-size, Wilson Pro Staff tennis racquet. 

Everyone was super happy with their gifts, except for Andersen who gave perplexed glances at the Bulova watch he had received, an exact and affordable replica of the iconic watch Dave Scott had worn while he toured the moon with his Apollo 15 crew. “Cheer up Andersen,” John said, “Your gift is perhaps the most stylish of all.” 

“But I didn’t ask for this,” the man frowned. 

“I remember Jim and Sherlock picking your chit. It read ‘Holmes-Moriarty, I want a watch’.” 

Mycroft was by then herding them all out for that dinner. The sooner dinner was over the sooner he would be free of human company, which was his pet peeve. As they left the flat, John tried to cheer Andersen up, “Do you want another model? We can change it.” 

“Damn it doctor,” Andersen spluttered out, “I said ‘I wanna watch’, not I want a watch.”

John was sure he heard a certain former consulting criminal snicker behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a later story which explains why Andersen wanted to 'watch' ;-)


	4. Day 4 - Waiting for You (Prompt - Haunted)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is different,” Sherlock replied absentmindedly, “I keep seeing him in very real situations and he seems to have something to say."

“Do you believe in ghosts John?” 

John looked up from his book, “No. I don’t. But I have an open mind on this subject. Why?” 

Sherlock Holmes was sixty, now settled in a country house with his blogger, comrade, friend and colleague John Watson, occasionally delivering lectures at Universities, earning rich royalties from some books he had written on the science of deduction and solving one or two odd cases a month while he mostly remained preoccupied with his hobbies like beekeeping, violin, reading, drawing. John was still practicing but he had his own clinic now, hence he was able to spend more time with his friend and on writing story after story on their past cases. He treated only a limited number of patients every week and left most of the work to his assistants and juniors.

Life was good, peaceful, respectable and enjoyable in equal proportions. They had earned it. 

“You didn’t answer me,” John said after a while. 

“Oh that,” Sherlock said, “I….I don’t know how you’ll react to this but….” 

“Jesus Christ. We have known each other thirty years now. Out with it.” 

“I keep seeing Jim.” 

“Moriarty?” 

“Yeah, Jim.” 

John sighed. He knew more than anyone else that the only time Sherlock had ever felt tugs at his heartstrings were those years when he duelled with criminal mastermind Moriarty, the only man who was his intellectual equal and who provided a challenge worthy enough for the great detective to respect him for it. Moriarty’s death had sent Sherlock into a downward spiral for a while and though he had recovered from it, he had never forgotten the nemesis who had once stolen his heart. 

“It’s not new, is it?” He asked, looking at the fire crackling next to them. 

“This is different,” Sherlock replied absentmindedly, “I keep seeing him in very real situations and he seems to have something to say. I mean, I was shaving and there he was, in the mirror, standing behind me and talking to me about that case of the stolen sculpture. Another day, as I walked in the garden, he fell into step with me and asked me about my health. I see him on the couch, sitting and reading a book and smiling at me, he doesn’t even talk sometimes, just sits there.” 

“You need more cases Sherlock,” John smiled, “Idle brain is Moriarty’s workshop.” 

“Maybe we should ask Agnes about it.” 

Agnes was their housekeeper and lived on that property. But she was a local and had many contacts in the village, including a psychic who was her neighbour and friend. John frowned, “You are serious about this, aren’t you?” 

“Oh yes, I absolutely am,” Sherlock replied, going back to the newspaper he was reading. He didn’t want to scare John but for a few days he had been getting strangely foreboding feelings about his life. Dark thoughts haunted him all the time and he had this strong urge to visit James Moriarty’s grave and light a candle there, leave a black rose on top of the shiny marble, spend some time sitting there and just reminiscing. Jim had remained a part of his life even after he had died but recently that presence had intensified and become ubiquitous in its penetration into his thoughts and visions. Even now he could see Jim at the window, waving out to him and smiling. 

That smile!!!

***

“Mr. Holmes,” Agnes said as she cleared the tea cups and spoons from the table, “I spoke to Myla.” 

“Myla who?” Sherlock looked surprised. 

“My friend who is a psychic,” the housekeeper explained, putting the empty utensils on the tray, “The doctor asked me to speak to her about things you have been seeing of late. She listened, asked some questions and then gave me a few answers. First of all, she was pleasantly surprised that you’re a believer. Usually most people consider her profession as the biggest hoax trade in this world. Anyways, she told me that there could be two reasons why you’ve been seeing this…friend of yours.” 

“And they are?” Sherlock tilted his head. 

John looked on intently and listened with rapt attention. 

“Unfinished business, related maybe to your karma or his, or both. Something must have happened lately which roused those feelings in you and therefore you’re conjuring his image in your mind. Like a place you’d both have liked to visit, or some activity you had planned to complete. If you complete it, you’ll see less of him.” 

“I doubt. What is the next one?” 

She hesitated. 

“Tell me Agnes, I won’t break.” 

“That he wants to reconnect. Wants to reach out to you. But she said that seeing him means nothing dangerous or worrisome really. As long as you can’t feel him, smell him, touch him, feel as if he is as much a part of this world as you are, it should be fine. Hearing and seeing him could be just extra sensory perceptions you possess, fuelled by your memories and the sub conscious mind.” 

“Thank Agnes,” Sherlock sent her off. 

Once she was gone John threw him an intrigued look. “Is everything all right Sherlock? I mean it’s not like you to indulge in theories like this, taking opinions from some psychic woman, seeing Moriarty around and inside the house, it somehow doesn’t add up. Look, I know you loved that man but it’s been twenty one years since he has been….gone. What set off this chain of sightings? Do you wish to consult with some therapist on this….I mean I could introduce you to some of my colleagues, they are very good….really good.” He paused and added, “They will give you better answers than what we just heard.” 

“Are you telling me my friend that I have gone mad?” 

“No Holmes, no. But I sincerely wish you would let me do a thorough medical check-up…” 

“I am fine John.” 

“Sherlock, you have a heart condition.” 

“Mild heart condition. Fifty percent men my age have that and live to be eighty. Though, I can’t imagine myself that old. That would be boring.” 

John didn’t argue any further. 

The consulting detective turned to his left, where he saw James leaning against the cabinet, looking at him disapprovingly. “You have put on weight. Age doesn’t suit you much Sherlock!”

***

The next day Sherlock didn’t feel too good. The weather was cold and damp and it rained almost all day, grey skies and dark clouds casting a dismal appearance around the normally cheerful, green and pretty countryside. John diagnosed that his breathlessness and weakness was predominantly due to the weather, his smoking habits and the rather late nights he had been keeping recently. 

“Stay in bed, if things don’t get better tomorrow you are coming to the clinic with me,” John warned. 

As evening settled in, the rain trickled down to a drizzle but the wind howled and lashed around the place, creating a strange eerie atmosphere. Their pet terrier ‘Elementary’ kept howling, much to Agnes’ annoyance. But she wasn’t able to keep the pooch quiet. Sherlock had a light dinner, per John’s instructions, and lay in bed reading a book while John sat next to his bed and worked on his laptop. Sherlock looked at him, at sixty-five the doctor looked ten years younger and much fitter than he did. He had aged well, he still radiated vitality and charm. 

Sherlock was about to say those words to his friend when a sharp pain grasped one side of his chest. At the exact same moment he saw Jim, standing at the doorway. Even through the haze of that pain, he could hear Jim’s words, ‘Did you miss me?’

Sherlock had always missed Jim terribly always. The aching void in his life had never truly been gone. But never had he felt this anxious need to reach out to Jim, to this image, his imagination, or even this apparition, whatever he was, and just hold him once. He reached out, arm outstretched, just as Jim stepped forward and extended his hand. Sherlock heard the howling of the dog in the night, the sounds of a woman sobbing and John telling him something loudly. He lost his balance and slid on the floor, landing surprisingly softly, before he was yanked to his feet by a strong, familiar hand. 

Not John. 

Jim. 

But….how did he feel him? Jim was not supposed to be touching him. Jim’s scent was also permeating into his nostrils. Spicy, with woody undernotes, fresh vanilla and a hint of mint. How? He shouldn’t be able to smell Jim, should he? 

He at once remembered what Agnes has said. ‘Seeing him means nothing dangerous or worrisome really. As long as you can’t feel him, smell him, touch him, feel as if he is as much a part of this world as you are’. He could now feel Jim, touch Jim, smell Jim. 

“Sherlock,” Jim pointed with his free hand, the other one keeping a hold on the detective’s wrist. 

Sherlock turned and in a single moment it all became clear to him. There, lying in bed with his eyes wide open and mouth firmly closed, was he, or maybe his body. John was desperately calling for an ambulance, Agnes was crying and the neighbours Mr and Mrs Rivers had just arrived. No doubt alerted by Agnes, Mr Rivers tried to comfort the dog and quieten it while Mrs Rivers consoled a weeping Agnes. 

“Come on Sherlock,” Jim whispered, “You kept me waiting long enough.” 

Sherlock looked at his friend John with some sadness. The doctor looked crestfallen and was holding his body in his arms, pleading for him to stay with him. He wondered if John even remembered a life when there was no Sherlock Holmes in it.

“Long life,” Jim read his mind and stated in a matter of fact manner, “Thirteen more years for John.” 

“So, what now,” Sherlock looked at Jim. He looked so beautiful, still young and sensuous, the highlights being his boyish smile and the molten brown eyes. Sherlock hadn’t forgotten! He grasped Jim’s hand harder, as if he would never again let it go.

“Ready for an adventure?” Jim’s eyes twinkled.

“Always ready. Just promise that there would no abrupt and unplanned end to this. I won’t lose you again, would I?”

“As far as I know Sherlock, we won’t be getting rid of each other in a long, long time.”

“Sounds like an adventure in itself Jim.” 

With that, Sherlock fell into step with the criminal mastermind, excitedly talking about things he always wanted to discuss with Jim. 

In the meantime, it had started to rain again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Appreciate the kudos and comments, they always make a writer feel someone is interested in their work.


	5. Day 5 - Indecent Proposal (Prompt - Professor/Student)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Sherlock loves to pick on brilliant student Jim but why

James Moriarty was fuming. 

He had always been the most brilliant young man in the university. Not only was he ahead of his peers and studying for a master’s degree in astrophysics at the tender age of seventeen, he was someone no professor ever tangled with. He was street smart and witty along with being intelligent and brilliant and the old coots were scared of whatever answers they’d end up receiving. 

But not this young professor. William Sherlock Scott Holmes. They said that he was also a bright young thing like Jim was and he had to be so to become a professor at such a green age. His records were very impressive! At the young age of twenty-three he had double masters from Oxford and had also complete his thesis on applied chemistry. Jim wasn’t jealous that he had a Sherlockian standard to live up to, he was upset that this lanky fellow actually wanted to show the world Jim was stupid. Twice they had tangled in the classroom and while William Sherlock Scott Holmes had lost one argument he had convincingly won the other. To Jim, who was always competitive, this was like a slap on the face, a slap he couldn’t tolerate. 

“Moriarty,” Holmes barked at the end of a lecture, “Corrections needed in your submission. Stay back.” 

“He’s so cute, I’d stay back to sweep the place if that’s what it takes,” Emma, one of his fellow students cooed. 

Not that Jim was unaware of the professor’s good looks. He was tall and willowy, with adorable curly hair and bewitching green eyes. But right now he couldn’t care less about those eyes or that handsome appearance. He just hated this Holmes. 

But arguing was not an option. Last week the principal had summoned him and rebuked him for disobeying the new professor and asked him to cooperate with the man. “He was here a few years ago and we know him well,” the principal had said, “Your classmates are very fond of him. What’s it with you? Why do you have a problem?” 

‘Because he acts like an arse with me, that’s why’ – This was what Jim wanted to say, but couldn’t say. 

“I have some work too,” the professor said quietly, “Come here, sit with me while I correct these papers. You can help me with a few as well.” 

Jim startled, “But you said I had to correct some….” 

“Call me Sherlock.” 

Jim frowned, “Why?” 

Sherlock gave him a rather condescending smile. “For a brilliant boy who has been lauded as the Einstein of his generation, you clue in pretty slowly James.” 

Jim blinked, “Excuse me?” 

Sherlock crossed his legs and put a magazine on his lap, a look of cunning shrewdness on his face. “Well, if you need me to spell it out then here goes! I have heard that you’re trying to break my record of getting a master’s degree at eighteen by getting it at seventeen years and ten months. I also heard that you intend to do your second masters in mathematics, complete your PHD and then acquire your post-doctoral status here. I could help you get there, I am one myself so I have been there and done that. Or I could just slow you down a little and make you miss all your dreams, or get them a little delayed. Delayed gratification isn’t a good thing always!” 

Jim shuddered. What a leech! 

But then it occurred to him that Professor Sherlock Holmes was also drop dead handsome and clearly interested in him. Now he knew why the crossed legs, the uncomfortable posture, the strategic placement of the magazine on the lap. The man was attracted towards him. 

And he was hell-bent on getting what he wanted. 

“Don’t refuse help,” Sherlock said in his deep baritone which seemed to surrounded Jim like a large rock alcove, impressive and huge, solid and protective, yet with a darkness contained within. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered by this man’s attention, or scared. 

“I have never needed anyone’s help,” Jim retorted. 

“Now you do,” Sherlock’s green eyes glowed with fierce determination. 

“What do you exactly want?” Jim gritted his teeth together. He already knew the answer but wanted the other man to spell it out nonetheless. 

“Oh my little slow one,” Sherlock gave him a thorough look, up and down, eyes lingering eventually on Jim’s face, “Has anyone told you that you are the perfect combination of a pretty sylph, a next door cutie and the typical genius hottie everyone wants to date? The moment I looked at you I wanted you and you never stopped parading your stuff to me either. Look at those pants you’re wearing, aren’t they too tight?” 

“Mind your own business,” Jim shot back but he couldn’t hold back the blush. It was true, he had an erection and his pants felt too tight. 

“Which I am doing,” Sherlock snickered, “YOU ARE my business.” 

“Since when?” Jim strode over to the professor’s desk and stood with his legs planted apart and his hands on his hips. Assuming a threatening posture seemed like a good idea when the other man was being so cool and composed and mostly keeping the reins of this conversation in his own hands. Jim hated the concept of giving up control, of someone else telling him what to do and brain-fucking him into doing it. He detested his body’s reaction to Sherlock fucking Holmes and how his heart was hammering in his chest with excitement and a strange anticipation. 

“Since I saw you trying to toss a paper plane in my direction on the very first day I taught here,” Sherlock smirked. 

Jim blushed. So the professor had spotted him during that moment of mischief. He was shaken out of his thoughts suddenly when two large hands grabbed his wrists and pulled him forward, making his upper torso bend and thrust right into the taller man’s space. He was thereafter grabbed by the biceps and pulled flush against that broad chest and warm lips closed over his own. Jim gasped and the moment his lips parted because of that, Sherlock instantly deepened the kiss. The youth clutched at Sherlock’s shoulders, initially to shove him away, but ended up holding him tight and keeping him in place instead. His eyes, initially wide open in shock, fluttered shut in sheer pleasure of being kissed so good!

His mouth was devoured for almost a minute before he was set back on his feet, upright, and long artistic fingers wiped the drool from the corner of his lips and gently brushed back the hairs that had fallen on to his face. Jim was confused. Those touches seemed…..gentle. 

“You k-kissed me,” he blurted out, hating himself for stating the obvious like an idiot. 

“Hmmm….mmmm….evidently,” Sherlock said, “Come over at seven. We can have dinner, then study for about an hour, then I shall walk you back to your house.” 

Shock after shock after shock! Jim was reeling from them. 

“Trust me, being with me will serve a good purpose. Do you like pot roast? I have a housekeeper, she makes a mean pot roast with grilled buttered vegetables.” 

“What if I don’t show up?” 

“I will have to tell the principle and your parents that you blew up the previous chemistry professor’s car, sending him into a state of shock which required therapy for months, and threatened the economics professor till he quit and fled this place.” 

“How-How do you….know?” 

“I deduced. It’s called the science of deduction. We can discuss this too when you come over, this and much more.”

Jim had a tremendous presence of mind and an unfailing sense of his surroundings. He mentally pored over the words Professor Holmes had just spoken and quickly came to the conclusion that he was not a man to be trifled with. True, he had just made an indecent proposal to him and there was always a chance that he could blackmail him further, but to put this man in his place he needed to know him better. He needed data. He needed to win the man’s heart. He needed to gain his trust. 

And he was a great kisser. Things wouldn’t be a torture really. 

Sea green eyes were boring holes into him as Sherlock waited patiently for an answer. Jim sneered for a moment when the older man’s hands reached out and held him lightly at the hips before sneaking upwards slowly. There was a wolf inside him which could recognize the wolf inside Professor Holmes and in spite of the other man’s assuring smile, he knew there was more than what met the eye. Behind those eyes and smile lurked a monster, waiting to eat him alive. It would be a dangerous game, one which would need every ounce of his intelligence, courage and cunning to stay ahead. 

But what was life without a good challenge? 

“I think I will bring the wine,” Jim replied, gently but firmly prying off his professor’s hands from his sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two wolves at play - Hope you enjoyed reading this dances with the wolves!


	6. Day 6 - Fishing (Prompt - Disability)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a lonely ex fighter pilot who lost a limb in WW II. Till he meets his new neighbour. AU.

Sherlock sat on the patio of his modest cottage, watching the neighbourhood come alive and get busy for the last time of the day. Students were returning from their school campuses, professionals were coming back home from a hard day’s work while smaller kids were stepping out of their houses to play with their mates. The women peered out of the front doors, checking on their kids or keeping an eye out for their spouses or sons who would be on their way back home from the nearby factories in Pretoria or the row of offices on Loudon Lane. 

These were the moments when Sherlock felt trapped in his situation. These were the moments he felt lonely. This was the time of the day when he regretted his disability. 

Sherlock had been a World War II pilot. He had done well, shot up the hierarchy with quick promotions before his luck had run out on him and he had been shot down. He had survived, miraculously, but lost one leg below the knee. After nearly a year at the hospital he had been honourably discharged with adequate compensation, a government provided cottage for a lifetime and a job as a desk clerk at the local municipal corporation. He could move about now, with the help of a prosthetic foot they had fitted, but needed crutches or a lean-on cane to walk properly. The money was not great but it was enough for his needs and he was grateful to have a two-bedroom cottage with some grass around it, without paying a penny from his pocket. 

But a huge vacuum in his life often sucked him into its depressing darkness. 

“Hello.” 

Sherlock hadn’t noticed the other man. He was standing on the other side of the hedges that separated their identical properties. He blinked as he took in the sight of his new neighbour (he now recalled the U-Haul truck arriving three days ago, laden with furniture and luggage), and noticed that the man was rather attractive and athletic, with a headful of dark hairs and deep chocolate brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence and life. 

//Just the sort of man I would have dated, had I not been a cripple// Sherlock sighed. There was no way a man like this would like him now. 

“Hello,” he greeted, “New here I see?” 

“Yes,” the man replied, “Just came in day before yesterday.” 

“Settled in?” 

“Yes, more or less. My name is James Moriarty.” 

“Sherlock Holmes. Pleased to meet you.” 

“Very nice to meet you Sherlock. Please call me Jim.” 

“Right Jim….um….can I help you with something? I mean in case you need something….” 

Jim thought for a moment and said, “You can actually. I was going fishing this weekend and if both you and your wife are all right with it, I’d like you to accompany me. I have additional fishing gear so don’t worry about that.”

A pleasant tingle spread up Sherlock’s spine and a warm feeling spread in his chest. This good looking and smart man actually wanted to spend time with him!!! Sherlock could easily see the affluence on the other man, the clothes, the fact that he had hired a gardener to do his front yard properly for him, that he had a truck and a small sailboat and quite obviously additional fishing gear. “Oh I would love to accompany you Jim,” he said quickly, “And there is no wife. In case your wife wants a neighbour with whom she can exchange recipes, she has to search the cottage on the other side. Mrs Montrose lives there, friendly lady, slightly nosey though.” 

Jim smiled. It was a disarming smile. 

“No wife here either. I don’t think I will ever have one.” 

“But why? Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“Like Mrs Montrose?” 

Sherlock laughed, “Yeah, you can say that!” 

“I am….not that it matters to anyone but me…..not that it’s anybody’s business but….I thought you should know, I am a single homosexual man. Not someone who would take on a wife ever.” 

Sherlock stood up a little too soon and almost toppled backwards. His lack of balance alarmed his neighbour enough to make him jump clean over the hedges and rush up the three steps to the patio. Somewhere at the back of his mind Sherlock noted that he could no longer be as fleet-footed as his gorgeous neighbour but that thought was overshadowed by his excitement at having Jim Moriarty so close. Close enough to smell his cologne!

“You all right?” 

“You trusted me with a secret,” Sherlock winced and picked up his cane, “Let me tell you the whole truth about myself. I…I was a World War II pilot and while serving the nation gave me many medals of honour and promotions, it also left me with half a limb less.” 

He showed Jim his prosthetic foot. 

Jim smiled, “Someone told me I was going to be neighbours with a fellow soldier. Fellow former soldier. I knew instantly you had suffered a misfortune as well because these cottages are usually given to war heroes and people like us who can no longer serve.” 

“You….you served too?” 

“Yeah,” Jim said briefly. 

Sherlock felt at ease instantly. Finally there was someone he could talk to, someone who would understand, someone who was just like him. Most of the cottages here were occupied by soldiers and former soldiers but they were all able-bodied men, heterosexual men with families, not the sort whom Sherlock could easily have a beer or a coffee with. Jim was different, an anomaly in the largely similar mass of people, a wave of beauty and relief in a sea of ugly prejudices and bitter malice. He looked at Jim from top to toe and couldn’t detect any kind of injury, nothing debilitating, nothing that was even visible to the naked eye. Was it something hidden under his clothing? 

“Can I get you some coffee and brandy?” He offered. 

To his delight, Jim nodded. As Sherlock made to enter the house, his newfound friend said, “Maybe I could help you with the coffee? Let’s see what your kitchen looks like. Yup, being nosey, like Mrs Montrose.” 

Sherlock laughed heartily for the first time in two years. “Yeah sure of course. Um…there is something sticking out of your collar.” 

Jim didn’t answer him then but, as they sat drinking their coffee and brandy half an hour later, Sherlock having added some chocolate cake to that, he made the big reveal.

“Bomb,” Jim said with a wistful smile, pulling out what seemed like wires and a small contraption attached behind his ear, “I was in the bomb defusing squad. One of them escaped us in Romania and it went off around five of us, blinding two, maiming one and taking off both my eardrums. I, sir, am stone deaf and completely reliant on this device to help me hear what you’re saying.” 

Sherlock reached out and held Jim’s hand, eyes wide. “Jim I….” 

“If you’re going to express sympathy Sherlock, I’ll never come back here again. I have never allowed my disability to define me and neither should you.” 

“I shall do that no longer,” Sherlock replied, feeling a sense of warm fulfilment and unbridled joy coming over him, “Jim, you are a God-send. For over a year I have been here, reclusive, bitter, thinking my life was over at thirty-one, moping over my situation and considering myself as a lesser mortal. But today, merely an hour since I met you, I know exactly why I lost a limb and had to come here to live here.” 

“Why?” Jim lowered his brows. 

“So we could meet. So you could be mine. So we could be together.” 

“Sherlock Holmes, we have just met and you are….” Jim was aghast but didn’t seem offended. It was more of a thrilling surprise.

“Just fishing for the perfect mate Jim,” Sherlock answered cheerfully, “I guess it’s good practice before the weekend.” 

Jim’s answer was a soft blush and a coy smile that fixed the broken heart and lonely life of Sherlock Holmes forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to all those who have suffered the loss of life, limb and other functions due to war, fighting crime or terrorism.


	7. Day 7 - Let me take care of him (Prompt - Rescue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mormorlock with John thrown into the mix!

“Damn,” Sebastian Moran slammed his fists on the snowcat, “This thing won’t go any farther than this.” 

Sherlock threw him a wry glance, “I suppose you didn’t take a good look at it before we started. The man who we rented it from told us clearly this hasn’t been used for almost a year now.” 

“If you were so keen on the damned machine being checked properly then why didn’t you just do it on your own?” Sebastian snarled at the detective, his blue eyes blazing as he jumped out of the yellow snowcat, “I was finishing some work and also packing lunch for us while all you were doing was ogle Jim’s arse and make wisecracks about the crime rate in Alaska. If you were so bothered about the condition of the snowcat then why didn’t you do the checks yourself Mr. Know-it-all?” 

“I would have loved to,” Sherlock said with more than a dollop of sarcasm, “If you don’t start biting me for making any suggestions. It’s always ‘I know what’s best for James’ and ‘Don’t tell me how to keep him happy’ and that.”

Jim Moriarty looked on in dismay at his two men as they argued a blue streak. He couldn’t believe he was thinking this but he actually missed John Watson. He wished the doctor had also accompanied them on their excursion up the hills instead of meeting a medical colleague at a pub near their hotel at Anchorage. 

“Guys,” he snarled, “Can we just find a place to spend the night in? I don’t think we are going to reach our destination in this thing. It has to be repaired.” 

“I will find an inn or a lodge,” Sherlock said immediately. 

“No need,” Sebastian smirked, “I see a nice cabin up there, one which isn’t lived in at the moment. I can pick the lock and we can spend a few hours there while we wait for our rescue. The owners won’t be any wiser when they return for their annual vacation.”

Jim heaved a sigh of relief but seeing Sherlock’s sneer, he was sure something would flare up soon.

***

“Hmmmm,” Sherlock glared at the pair that sat before the fireplace, “That sniper keeps pawing at James constantly. Why can’t he leave him alone? Don’t we all know how much they love each other? Hmmmfff…..yep, I have an idea.” 

He strolled up to the pair and said impatiently, “James, why don’t you chop up some more firewood. There isn’t much here and we really do need the fire. At this rate, it will go off in the next hour or so.” 

Sebastian understood instantly why Sherlock was doing that. He had just about opened his mouth to suggest that Sherlock could very well chop the firewood on his own when the clever detective produced an ace from up his sleeve. “I am going to cook some soup, we are all pretty peckish by now. Seb, I think you could make yourself useful and try and call the guys who rented out that snowcat and ask them to send up a snowmobile or something to rescue us and take us back to Anchorage.” 

Jim nodded and got up instantly. 

As soon as Jim had picked up an axe and walked outside, Sherlock followed him there so he could snuggle up to the smaller man. He could have easily chopped the firewood but his intention and goal was to separate the criminal mastermind and his pet sniper, which he had successfully achieved. He cuddled up to Jim and kissed the tip of his nose, enveloping the smaller man in the warmth of his embrace. “Your nose is like an ice cube,” he grinned at the smaller man, “Let me warm it up. In fact, let me warm you up completely my little James!” 

“Little?” 

Sherlock groaned. Sebastian was standing there. 

“He is indeed carrying a little axe,” Sebastian produced a bigger one, “You should use this one Jim. In fact, let me show you how to.” 

“Guys I can do this,” Jim had a bad feeling about this. 

“No, let me show you.” 

“Leave James alone.” 

“Why don’t you do the same? Now step aside.” 

Sebastian grabbed Jim’s arms from behind as the small man picked up the huge, heavy axe, and lifted it so high Jim’s feet almost left the ground, striking a hard blow to the log in front of them. It was a bad angle and a piece of the log flew out and hit Jim on his nose. “Owwww,” Jim yelped, dropping the axe, “Yeaaaoowww.” He had dropped the axe on his own foot. Fortunately, only the handle had landed on his toes or he would have lost them. 

“Look what you have done,” Sherlock scolded Seb, “Now you step aside, let me take the poor darling back indoors.” 

He slung Jim over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and took him back into the cabin, dropping him on the couch. “Have soup,” he said as he handed a bowl of the steaming broth to the brunette, “I will get you something for that nose and foot.” 

As soon as Sherlock stepped out, Sebastian came in with a small tub of water. “Here,” he placed it at Jim’s feet, “Soak your feet in warm water boss. You must be freezing.” 

Jim had scarcely had a few spoonsful of soup and placed his feet in the water when Sherlock came in, looking crossly at a smug Sebastian. “Stay away from him,” he snapped, “You injured him out there, nearly had his toes chopped off. And look at this water, it’s not even hot. It’s only lukewarm. He needs really hot water to thaw and some ice for that nose.” 

“Oh yeah?” Sebastian scowled, “Who sent him out in the cold in the first place?” 

Jim looked rather dismayed and quickly sent out a few texts, hoping they reached the right person. He wasn’t very keen on staying here with his two lovers, not when they were hell-bent on outdoing each other on ‘who can take the best care of Jim’. So far it had only spelled trouble for him and he was sure much worse was to follow soon. He had put his phone away and just about picked up his bowl of soup again when Sherlock stomped back into the room with a bowl of scalding hot water. “Here,” the detective said, “Let’s get the water nice and warm.” 

He poured the water directly into the tub and the resulting sting from its heat made Jim yowl and pull his feet up. That suddenly movement also made him drop his hot soup on to his thighs and he groaned, tossing the bowl away in pure frustration. “You are hurting him,” Sebastian pounced on Sherlock. 

“You didn’t do much better,” Sherlock shoved the bigger man away. 

“Holmes beware!” 

“Careful Moran.” 

The sound of a snowcat stopped the fight and the two men, still giving each other death-glares, rushed outside to see who it was. They had expected the rental company to have sent someone up to get them back but were pleasantly surprised to see John Watson there. “I got a few texts from Jim and came over immediately,” John said as he got out of the snowcat, “It’s not often that Jim sounds…..in distress.” 

“Oh thanks buddy for rescuing us,” Sebastian gave him a friendly clap on the back. 

“John, it’s always you to the rescue,” Sherlock gave him a light hug, “I know how much you hate driving in the snow…..” 

“I came for this holiday in spite of the snow didn’t I?” John smiled, “Now where is Jim? Jim…hey man what happened to you?” 

Jim came out limping, scalded, bruised, nose red and swollen, a dismayed and fed up look on his face. “John,” he croaked, glaring at his two lovers, “Thanks for coming over.” 

“No need to thank me Jim, just doing my duty.” 

“No but I need to. Because I am the one you really rescued.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, don't glare. I didn't say Mormorlock and John smut, did I :-D


	8. Day 8 - Sleeping with the enemy (Prompt - Nemesis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes is in trouble

Sherlock looked at his phone screen, scrolling quickly as he read about the crime in Geneva. It had ‘James Moriarty’ written all over it. He knew the criminal kind and that’s why he was sure nobody but Jim could have flicked off a diamond necklace worth ten million dollars from a jewellery exhibit that was guarded nearly as well as American Presidents were. 

He wondered if Mycroft had read about it and if some Swiss espionage agent had contacted him for some help. If that happened, Mycroft’s famous ‘no leg work’ rule would kick in and Sherlock would be asked to act. 

He didn’t want to travel out of the country any time soon. He was getting interesting cases here and he was also writing a book on his chemistry experiments so there was plenty for him to do and give him the intellectual stimulation he needed. Only a month ago he had returned after solving a complicated murder case in Russia and had no desire to sit in a plane for at least another two or three months. He loved London, loved his life there and loved 221B Baker Street. Whatever Mycroft wanted to do to help the Swiss would have to go to someone else. 

The cab arrived at Baker Street and as he was paying the fare, his phone pinged. 

‘Moriarty at it again, a Labour leader has been killed ‘accidentally’ but we know who did it.’

Sherlock took a deep breath. Damn Moriarty. Damn that devious mastermind. Damn him. 

‘Do you want to work on that case’ – Greg Lestrade. 

Sherlock made a face and typed a response ‘Do you really want me to. You said it is accidental’ – Sherlock H. 

In a few moments, he got his response from the detective inspector of Scotland Yard. 

‘We can talk tomorrow. There could be some clues and hints we could look at’ – Greg Lestrade. 

‘Tomorrow then’ – Sherlock H. 

By the time he was opening the door to his flat, he had already forgotten about Greg Lestrade and the murder of the Labour leader. His nose twitched and he looked around suspiciously. He was not alone in the flat. Someone else was there, had been there for quite some time in fact. He could smell their shampoo, cologne, natural scent of sweat and musk and also the faint whiff of brewed Darjeeling tea. None of these scents were strong, they had dissipated in the still air of the flat and mingled together at some point, which spoke of their lingering presence for at least a couple of hours.

“Christ,” Sherlock groaned. 

This was not the first time, was it? 

He saw a wet towel on the floor just outside the bathroom and the sound of the tap dripping. Making a face he picked the towel up and hung it on the rack before giving the tap a hard twist, making the dripping stop. 

Taking a deep breath, he cautiously pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside. The room was dark save for the slanting sliver of light from the hallway which had been allowed in through the open door. But even in the semi-darkness Sherlock could clearly make out the sleeping form on his bed. He could hear the steady and quiet rhythms of the man’s breathing, indicating a deep slumber. The moment Sherlock turned on one of the bedside lights the sleeping man made a groaning noise, rolling over to face the other side. 

James Moriarty. Criminal mastermind, his nemesis, the famous outlaw who nobody knew, a man who couldn’t be arrested since he was only a voice on the phone, the most formidable adversary Sherlock Holmes had, the one who was truly his equal in brilliance. That very same man was now sleeping on Sherlock’s bed, wearing one of Sherlock’s shirts, with his head resting on Sherlock’s pillow and hugging another pillow to his chest. 

Sherlock stared at the man in wonder. It was hardly believable that such a pretty, slender, smallish man like Jim, with the cutest smile in the world, could have wreaked havoc in so many places in a single day. 

He could easily turn him in, trick him into a confession, or even squeeze a certain spot on his neck and just kill him in his sleep. The world would be safer and so would be the law. 

But then Jim would be gone and so would be Sherlock's happiness, his heart, his life. 

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed and gently touched Jim’s hip, giving the man a soft nudge to wake him up. Instantly the man stirred and looked over his shoulder, eyes barely open. “Sherly….what?” 

“Dinner?” 

“Yeah, no Indian food please. Too spicy.” 

“All right. I’ll order Chinese and wake you once it arrives.” 

“Mmm…yeah….good,” Jim was already falling asleep again. 

Sherlock undressed, pulled on his blue robe over his pajamas and went outside to order dinner for himself and his nemesis. He was sleeping with the enemy and didn’t regret it one bit. Not even once. Did that make him a criminal, a lawbreaker, a psychopath as well? 

He didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's difficult to be in love and wise at the same time, as is the case with this ficlet's Sherlock


	9. Day 9 - Sherlock and his Munchkin (Prompt - Texting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has left his phone behind at Scotland Yard. Andersen finds it and finds out something more.

Sally Donovan and some of the others at Scotland Yard rushed into the meeting room where Phil Andersen sat looking rather pensive. 

“All well?” Donovan asked, looking a bit perturbed, “You never call us for a meeting with a ‘in the next two and half minutes’ kind of urgency. And why should we keep DI Lestrade out of the picture if it’s that urgent?” 

Andersen’s grim expression faltered and a crooked grin broke through. His eyes glittered with wickedness, the sort that the team had seen only a handful of times in the decade and half that the detective had spent there. “People people people,” he announced proudly, “Please hear me out before jumping to conclusions. Last night, as you all know, my boss and I finally solved the mystery of the gold-plated Lamborghini, albeit with Sherlock’s help, and because it was a sapping, energy draining case the smartass detective fell asleep on top of our paperwork.” 

“I heard,” Donovan grimaced, “It took three to carry him out of the building and only John to carry him to the cab.” 

“Besides the point,” Andersen smirked, “Since he was so tired, Sherlock missed picking up something that had fallen out of his pocket. I found it this morning and before he comes storming in and demands it back, who wants to go through his texts?” 

All five present in the room whooped with excitement and raised their hands, matching cunning smirks on their faces. Despite his cold behaviour and constant insults, one of the girls liked him a lot. One of the men did too. And all of them, irrespective of their fondness or dislike for the detective, were extremely interested in knowing about his closely-guarded personal life. 

They sifted through the usual professional stuff, most of which were one-sided, matter of fact or plain boring, some not even fathomable because the detective had used a code language to communicate. But there was one thread and it was juicier than a ripe pear. All five heads bent over the screen of the iPhone 6plus and started to read the texts hungrily, small giggles escaping them. 

Rise and shine my sunshine – SH

Go away – Munchkin

Please wake up – SH

Sleeeeepy – Munchkin

Munchkin if you don’t move I can’t get up and I need to pee – SH

Sally Donovan snorted, “They were texting each other in bed? Right next to each other?” 

Andersen snorted as well, “Not next to each other, it’s more like on top of each other.” 

“Let us read,” came the chorus of protest from the other three in the room. Donovan and Andersen went back to reading the rest of the texts. 

You want to pee? I need to pee too. Can we go together – Munchkin

Ahhh naughty, naughty! Of course, as if you need to ask – SH

The next thread started on a different note. While the first one was intimate, sugary and somewhat needy, the second one clearly indicated a lot of angst and misunderstanding. 

Please babe, I promise it won’t happen again – SH

Fuck off, I hate you – Munchkin

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are grey – SH

No I am not. It’s that other fellow. Go suck his balls – Munchkin

You are adorable when you are jealous and ewww why should I suck his balls – SH

Want me to show you how dangerous I can be too – Munchkin

I already know that. Trust me, Lestrade is coveted by my elder brother Mycroft – SH

The five detectives burst out laughing. They already knew something was brewing between their boss Lestrade and the head of MI5 ad MI6 but they had no idea Sherlock’s lover suspected the detective to be having an affair with him. This was new and immensely funny. 

And I know you covet all those things that Mycroft has. You want his magnifying glass, his scale-model submarine, his fencing sword, his chess set and even his tea cozy. You would want Lestrade just because Mycroft has him – Munchkin

I am hurt – SH

Seriously, I am hurt. I am sobbing – SH

Why? Did your latest chemistry experiment fail? Fuck off – Munchkin

You think I would cheat on you with Lestrade? He is like a brother to me. You underestimate yourself munchkin, you are way prettier and sexier any day. By the way I am hurt because I tripped on my own shoes and fell. Twisted my ankle – SH

You deserve it. Clean up that squalid place of yours – Munchkin

But you love it here – SH

Yes I do. Damn you Sherlock, how do you manage to make me smile when I am at my angriest – Munchkin

“I am convinced this is John Watson, we always knew 221B is a love nest,” Donovan commented bitchily as they looked at a very more threads where the two men, Sherlock and the mysterious ‘Munchkin’, talked about their dates and adventures. Almost all of them had something to do with a case, traveling together, staying together, watching theatre, concerts or operas together and eating together. It was a no-brainer and all the others agreed with her. 

“Look at this one, oh man, this is disturbingly hot,” the girl who was in love with Sherlock blushed deeper than a Dior vivid red lipstick. 

I need you now. Just solved a case that was called the ‘Find of the century’ – SH

I know – Munchkin

Imagine, what they had been hanging at the Munich museum was a copy all through. The original never left the basement – SH

Of course I know. Well done. Now what sort of reward are you seeking from me – Munchkin

Make me come. Success makes me horny. Cases like these make me hard - SH

Then come back and I will, I promise to make you see stars and forget your name – Munchkin

One whole day left for that. Make me – SH

Okay then. Follow my orders and do this in the next five minutes while I log in from my side. Take off your clothes and coat your fingers in baby oil. Open yourself up with three fingers and use that vibrator I gifted you, turning it to the highest setting. Then I want you to jerk yourself off with a slick, oily, hand, and then call me on Skype so I can see what’s going on. I will make you cum like you have never cum my virgin-turned-slut’ – Munchkin

Everyone shifted about as they read the message. Hot images, vivid and explicit, shot through their minds. 

Half an hour after the message from ‘Munchkin’, there were texts on the same thread. 

William Sherlock Scott Holmes – SH

Huhhhh – Munchkin

I did see stars, as you promised, but I still do remember my name : - ) – SH

You smartass, read the message again. I said ‘when you are here’ - Munchkin

Ohhhh I can almost feel it, moving in and out of you, licking at your sweat, oh fuck I am hard again – SH

They would have loved to read more but Andersen’s phone squawked loudly and made them all jump and move back. The detective quickly hid the phone inside the drawer and answered his own phone. “Phil Andersen here….yes….of course….Sherlock….oh I see you’re awake finally. What? Your phone? Yeah it must be here in case you don’t have it….no, why should I? I haven’t seen it…..no Donovan hasn’t either. How do I know? Um….had she seen it she would have told me, that’s why. Yeah okay…what….sorry I can’t help….wait, what do you mean I shall regret it?” 

He looked at the other four. “Scoundrel.” 

“Sherlock is always like that,” Donovan breathed fire. 

“Imagine this, he is accusing me of hiding his phone and wants me to deposit it with the boss right away. Otherwise I will be sorry, that’s what he said.” 

Just then all five of their phones beeped. 

Everyone had received the same video. 

Before they could even see who had sent it, the video started playing on its own. 

“OHMYGOD!” Donovan shrieked. 

It was Moriarty. 

‘You have invaded our privacy and lied to my boyfriend about not having his phone with you. I have been tracking the phone and I know you are all in Meeting Room 21 on the sixth floor of the Scotland Yard building and you are all looking into the contents of the phone. If you do not put the phone in a zip-lock bag and place it on Lestrade’s desk in the next five minutes…..BOOM’

As soon as the message ended, the video was self-erased. 

A stunned silence followed. Then one of the men snapped, “Andersen, just do what he said man, NOW!” 

***

Later that day

“I wish we could have seen more,” Andersen said ruefully. 

“Me too, it was kind of fun, hot and interesting,” Donovan replied as she packed up for the day, “But what took me by surprise is that Sherlock’s lover isn’t John, it’s Moriarty! Sherlock actually calls that dangerous cruel ruthless man ‘Munchkin’ and treats him like a regular boyfriend. Damn, I was always right. He gets Moriarty to create the cases and then solves them, gets the kudos.” 

“I don’t care what he does,” Andersen said with a snicker, “I would do anything for them, even for Moriarty, as long as I get to watch.” 

Sally Donovan initially gave him a prudish look but her defences broke and a wide grin emerged soon. “Look, I may not like Sherlock much and Moriarty absolutely scares me to death but there is something really sexy about the two of them together. I mean I can see them riding each other like wild stallions while going through a complex mathematical formula or poking holes in some rocket science theory at the same time. But watch them? That’s a bit too extreme I think. No way, that will never happen.” 

“I am going to ask,” Andersen said, “Trust me on this Sally, one day I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is a precursor to the Day 3 Prompt of this series, Christmas Gift Exchange, where Anderson puts his gift request as 'I wanna watch'


	10. Day 10 - Something Interesting (Prompt - Mycroft)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has to babysit little Jim and Sherlock and mayhem ensues

“Now remember Myc, the boys are very naughty but they are very young too, they could be extremely annoying but that doesn’t mean you neglect them or scold them. Please handle them like a loving big brother, gently and kindly.” 

“Yes Mycroft, just as you mother said, please be patient with them. They are just seven and six years old.” 

Mycroft Holmes was sixteen years old that summer. At an age when boys experience their puberty in full swing, with their voices cracking, their muscles emerging and the first hint of facial hair appearing. Like all other boys his age, Mycroft was sure no job in this world was impossible, or even difficult, and he nodded confidently at his mum and her friend. “Mum, Mrs Moriarty, I will take good care of them. They will be safe with me. You go and enjoy your charity luncheon and auction. For the next five hours, little Sherlock and James are my responsibility.” 

As the two ladies left, the two brats went from looking innocent to evil in a grand total of thirty seconds. 

Mycroft had to finish an assignment for school and that would take two hours. So he had devised a plan to bribe the boys into behaving. “Now listen Sherlock, James, if you eat your lunch like good kids and let me finish my work, I promise to give you something interesting.” 

Two pairs of eyes glowed with the promise of that statement. 

“Really?” They asked in unison. 

“A promise is a promise,” Mycroft swore. 

The boys kept their word and for the next two hours behaved like good little kids, eating their veggies at lunch and quietly scribbling in their drawing books, not disturbing Mycroft for even a second. //This is easy// Mycroft thought as he finally finished his work and lunch and returned to the room where the boys were, holding two chocolate boxes in his hands. He had been paid ten pounds each by the two mothers for babysitting and by spending only a fraction of it he had procured two boxes of Ferrero Rocher chocolates. 

“Here you go boys,” he handed one each to them. 

“What is this?” James asked, looking up at Mycroft. 

“This isn’t what you promised,” Sherlock pouted. 

“I said I will give you guys something interesting,” Mycroft squinted, his judicious look. 

“You think chocolates are interesting?” James snapped, “I have had chocolates for years now.”

“You are just six.” 

“So what? I have been eating chocolates for four out of six years, that’s nearly seventy percent of my life. I know my math.” 

Sherlock took his own chocolate box, James’ chocolate box and tossed it to one corner of the room. Mycroft gasped, surprised at the reaction but before he could even say another world, Sherlock yelled ‘Pirate attack’. In a flash he and James had pounced on Mycroft and started mauling and beating Mycroft with their little hands, knees, teeth and nails. While none of this could cause any injury to the much bigger boy, it was uncomfortable and painful and a shocked Mycroft had to finally use his strength to peel the boys off himself and put them on the couch, angry and livid at their behaviour. 

“You boys promised to behave,” he scolded them, looking at the toothmarks on his arm. 

“You promised us something interesting,” James snarled. 

“What I gave you was interesting enough,” Mycroft said as patiently as he could, “Many kids can’t dream of getting a chocolate box like this. Mum and dad wouldn’t give me one.” 

“That’s because you are fat,” Sherlock said rudely. 

“Okay fine, I will give you something else,” Mycroft panicked. He had no idea his normally slow little brother and the cute brat who was his best friend could be so intimidating. He quickly went to his room and came back with a science experiment for thirteen year olds, a kit he had received years ago and enjoyed solving. Maybe this would interest the two smart little puppies. 

In fifteen minutes, they had performed the experiment, quantified the results and were at his throat again. 

“This isn’t interesting,” James demanded, “Give us something better.” 

“We solved it,” Sherlock said, “I know my chemistry well.” 

Mycroft rushed into his father’s study and retrieved two puzzles. He handed them to the two fuming brats, “Here, I am sure you will find this interesting,” he said hopefully. 

In a few minutes, they were back to square one again, the little boys having solved the puzzles and growling about how this was as interesting as playing in the sand pit. Mycroft looked at the watch, still two and half hours to go before the mothers returned and he was rid of these little monsters. 

“How about a bike ride?” He asked. 

“NO,” Sherlock yelled, “That is NOT interesting.” 

“Do you think we are stupid?” James shouted at him, waving his little index finger. 

“O God help me,” Mycroft cried out, dismayed. 

In a flash the two were wreaking havoc across the room. Things were tossed and thrown, objects were broken, curtains were pulled down and Mycroft was pushed down on the rug while the two treated him as a prisoner aboard a pirate ship and launched an attack on him. Their housekeeper rushed in, saw the mess, and promptly suggested that she call the mothers and ask them to return home instantly. While he was tempted by that solution, Mycroft’s ego got in between. “No, wait, no, don’t do that,” he pleaded, “I will calm them down, they will be fine, give me just a few more minutes please Jemima.” 

He grabbed the two little monsters and dragged them outdoors. “I will take you to my friend Gary’s place,” he begged, “He has a tree house. I am sure that is interesting.” 

“What is interesting about a tree house?” James stamped on his foot, “It is just a house on a tree, that’s all.” 

“How about I take you to a toy shop?” 

“We go there every month,” Sherlock protested, throwing sand at his brother, “That’s not interesting. You lied to us Myc.” 

Mycroft tried his best to hold on two the two little brats who started to throw tantrums and kicked at his shins, attempting to pull away from him. “We will get you into trouble with mum,” Sherlock threatened. “I will tell mammy you hit me,” James issued an ultimatum. 

“Okay, please hold on, calm down, we will go to the attic, I know there are trunks filled with different things, maybe something might interest the two of you,” Mycroft was not above begging at that point. Two more hours to go and every second weighed heavier than the one before. “Come on boys,” he pleaded with them, “Just give me one more chance. Come to the attic with me.” 

He rummaged through various items there, trying not to freak out as the boys tossed everything back at him and began to scream and throw tantrums again. Downstairs he could hear Jemima making loud request that the ladies should be called and informed. Suddenly Mycroft held up a conch shell, something he had picked up when he was about Sherlock’s age and they had visited a sea beach on the Canary Islands. 

“That’s it,” Sherlock squealed, “Jimmyyy, look!” 

“Yes it’s interesting,” James snatched it from Mycroft’s hands, “Sherly let’s play with it.”

The two boys had never been to a beach yet and hadn’t somehow seen a conch shell. Thank God for it! 

Mycroft sank down on his knees and prayed to God for his ‘Divine Intervention’. Finally, finally they had found the ‘interesting object’. 

For the next two hours, the boys kept their end of the deal and didn’t disturb the big brother who lay on the couch, scarred by the incidents of the past hour. 

***

Twenty-seven years had passed and Mycroft was the head of Homeland Security in Great Britain. A powerful, mighty, wealthy man who was considered brilliant and resourceful and afraid of none. Sherlock was doing exceedingly well as a consulting detective while James was a criminal mastermind, someone Mycroft couldn’t quite grab hold of for the lack of evidence. It hurt him that brilliant boys like Sherlock and James had gone into unrewarding and dangerous professions rather than work with him or the government but then ‘to each his own’ was his philosophy in life. 

Till one rainy evening someone knocked on his door and he found, to his abject shock, Sherlock and James standing there holding hands. Yes, they were holding hands. 

“Brother mine,” Sherlock began as they stepped inside, Jim grinning and leaning on to him, “We have come to a solution to your biggest problem. You always wanted to stop James and wanted me to find more stability in life, give up cocaine and all that, so we got together and came out with a plan. You see, I promise to help you with all the MI5 cases you wish to push my way and James promises to help you with any international cases that MI6 might need help in resolving. He will stop his crimes and I will stop doing drugs.” 

“And the catch?” Mycroft narrowed his eyes. 

Jim grinned, “We want to get married. You will strike off my name from all crimes where I appear as a suspect and when we set up house, you won’t put any surveillance around it and give us our privacy.” 

“Is that all?” Mycroft felt pleased and relieved. This was indeed good news. 

“It’s all,” Sherlock assured. 

“When is the wedding?” 

“Maybe next month. James wants a quiet one in Dublin.” 

“Oh great, all right let me see what I can do.” 

“Mycroft,” James batted his lashes, “What will be our wedding gift?”

“Of course it will be something nice, something precious, something interesting…..” The last word just tumbled out of his mouth thoughtlessly. 

Two pairs of eyes glowed like LED bulbs in the darkness. “Promise,” the grown-up brats asked in unison. 

Mycroft groaned. Not again! 

Thank God he had an able assistant in Anthea to help him this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry Mycroft lovers but I love to tease his character a bit :)


	11. Day 11 - Early Days of Marriage (Prompt - Public Sex)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimlock on their honeymoon

“Three-mushroom pasta and a glass of Chianti,” Jim ordered, “Fettucine nor farfalle please!” 

“Grilled chicken with onion sauce and I shall drink whatever he is drinking,” Sherlock added. 

The waiter noted down their order, poured iced water into their glasses and left them alone, as the two men joined hands over the table and smiled at each other. They were on board a fabulous yacht and seated in a quiet corner of the opulent dining room on its fourth level, right next to windows that gave them a grand view of the ocean they were sailing on. Suddenly Jim got up and took a seat next to Sherlock instead of sitting across the table from him. The curly haired beauty narrowed his eyes and smiled at his new husband, “Getting all snuggly Mr. Moriarty Holmes?” 

“This is our honeymoon Mr. Holmes Moriarty and I own you,” Jim let out a breezy laugh and he looked so pretty that Sherlock’s eyes stayed fixed on his face for several seconds. 

“We just owned each other thoroughly about half hour ago in our cabin,” Sherlock whispered, “Why do I have a feeling you want to go back there and have sex again.” 

“I do want to have sex,” Jim winked at him saucily, “But who says I want to go back to the cabin again?” 

Sherlock raised his brows, “You don’t mean to say….” 

“I shall have it right here.” 

“Jim….no….” 

“I will. Watch me. Or rather, feel me as I hold your prick and give you a hand job right here in this place, and nobody will be any wiser if you keep it down.” 

“JIM!!!” 

Jim had already unzipped Sherlock’s pants and stuck his hand inside. A sharp gasp left Sherlock, followed by a chuckle and a ‘hush baby’ from Jim who had already found his prize. The taller man held his breath as his dick, already half-hard despite his reservations about this, was fondled by a hard and experienced hand. He shifted a little, still unable to believe this was happening in broad daylight, at a busy lunch hours in the dining room aboard their cruise boat. 

“Imagine all those other diners,” Jim said huskily as he started to stroke Sherlock, using the dripping pre-cum from the tip of his cock to ease the movements, “They think we are just waiting for our food and wine after placing the order but here we are, me with my hands down your pants and you holding the edge of the table as if your life depended on it, breathing heavily as I get you all worked up.” 

“Jimmy baby…..” Sherlock groaned, half in arousal, half in dismay, “Please….” 

“Please what? Please stop or please continue?” 

Sherlock made a strangled sound from the back of his throat, temporarily lost for words. He stiffened, eyes wide as Jim rubbed his thumb over his sensitive glans just at the moment the waiter arrived with their wine. The man didn’t suspect a thing. He failed to notice the flushed look on Sherlock’s face as the detective hid it behind his napkin, pretending to wipe his mouth, and Jim smiled sweetly and thanked him even as he continued to stroke Sherlock expertly under the table. As soon as the waiter had bowed politely and left, Sherlock spread his legs further to get comfortable. 

“I would take that as a ‘don’t stop’ then,” Jim laughed. 

“Jim I swear….” 

“Hmmm, I am listening?” 

“Get me off right now.” 

“If I do, will you give me a reward?” 

“Y-Yeah….of course…yess!” 

“Can I choose my gift?” 

“Yeah….oh God…yes you can…..oh yeah there!”

Jim’s eyes glowed with pride and accomplishment as he worked Sherlock up to the point of a near climax. The initially reluctant man was now fully into it, thrusting up into his fist and trying to fuck it so he could get himself off as quickly as possible. He gripped the butter knife so hard his knuckles turned white and his face was red enough to cause any onlooker a slight bit of alarm. “Remember,” Jim whispered, “You promise and I will hold you to that.” 

Sherlock was beyond speech now. He was breathing heavily, eyes glazed over with desire, pupils heavily dilated, mouth open as he struggled to keep those moans inside. He wanted to cry out with pleasure, kiss Jim, push him down and let him suck him, good Lord, he wanted so much more than this…..but for now this would have to do. He wanted to come so badly he was nearly passing out from the need. 

“Yes…just…l’l more…Jim…oh Jim I….” 

“Let go Sherly. Let go and cum. I got ya!” 

Sherlock bowed his head, bit into his napkin and climaxed with a series of sharp intakes of breath and noisy shuddering exhales. He vaguely registered Jim’s chuckle as he spilled over a tissue that Jim had held around his erupting cock at the right moment. His head buzzed, his ears buzzed, his heart beat like a train on track and for a few moments he saw nothing but a rainbow coloured haze dancing before his eyes. He understood why Jim loved public sex so much. The thrill of being caught, the excitement of knowing this was their secret, the adrenalin rush of indulging in something risky while the world went about their own business next to them, all of these factors contributed towards making the experience supremely awesome. 

“Was it any good?” Jim asked as he wiped his hand with another tissue. 

“Good you mean, it was bloody great,” Sherlock said breathlessly, still trying to grapple with the endorphins running through his system. He leaned over and kissed his husband’s temple, breathing in the scent of Jim’s cologne and his own discharge. Sherlock’s fabled cheekbones had a sprinkle of rose on them and his eyes shone with the warmth of afterglow. He looked very attractive indeed and Jim kept sipping his wine and smirking at his partner as they were served their steaming plates by the same waiter. Once again they thanked him politely, ordered for more wine and picked up their forks as the man departed after wishing them ‘bon appetit’. 

“You worked me up well,” Sherlock dug in enthusiastically, “Physical hunger sated, I feel hungry for food now.” 

“Rare I must say.” 

“Hmmm, it is indeed! But what’s your excuse?” 

“Proteins.” 

“Huh?” 

Jim took another bite of Sherlock’s chicken and smiled innocently, “Stocking up for the proteins I am going to lose.” 

The moment they had eaten half their plates, pawing and clawing at each other under the table all through, Jim got up and headed for the toilet, throwing a ‘come hither’ look at Sherlock over his shoulder. Sherlock stared hungrily at that pert, bubble butt, took a deep breath to stop himself from coming in his pants and got up from the table. He had a promise to keep to his pampered spouse. 

The waiter came back a few minutes later with the bill and found a huge tip on the table next to a small piece of paper with the cabin number of the guests handwritten on it. He picked up the notes and paper and grinned wide. 

“Wazzup Lorenzo,” the seating hostess asked as she passed by, “The lovebirds left a huge tip for you again?” 

“They always do when they’re in a hurry Nora,” Lorenzo chuckled, picking up the plates and looking in the direction of the toilets, “God bless those early days of marriage!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the boys can't keep their hands off each other. Sort of expected isn't it :)


	12. Day 12 - The Ripper (Prompt- Historical AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes, in the original cannon era, is a Scotland Yard inspector who arrests the 'Ripper'. But is it the real ripper he caught?

Year 1888 – Season Autumn – Location East of London, Whitechapel

Sherlock Holmes looked at the report. Pages and pages of descriptions, photographs and ‘evidence’ neatly filed in one giant box. He couldn’t believe he had done so much in such a short time. 

“Congratulations Chief Inspector,” his superior officer, Chief Superintendent Greg Lestrade thumped him on the back, “Or should I call you Superintendent now? Your promotion has been announced unofficially to us and to you already, after all. Next week you will receive the letter and the benefit of an increase of twenty-five pounds a month in your wages. Not bad at all I say! I think you should take the rest of the evening off, you have sure earned it. Now go celebrate with friends and family….or maybe a loved one, if you have found time to find her yet that is!” 

Sherlock nodded, “I will have a drink with a friend.” 

“Friend?” 

“Yes, so far only a friend.” 

“That sounds interesting. Is she someone I know?”

“Not personally….I will tell you when I am sure myself.” 

“Oh no problem Sherlock, go on ahead. Have a drink on me as well and give her my best.” 

Sherlock grimaced as Greg left. If he knew it was a ‘he’ and not a ‘she’ he would probably not just revoke the promotion but also throw Sherlock out of the job and treat him like a rabid dog. But love was love, it happened when it had to happen, with whom it had to happen. Sherlock had never thought he was a homosexual or a sodomite but after meeting a journalist a few months ago, his whole world had changed. 

James Moriarty, the chocolate eyed, raven haired beautiful Irishman with the near musical, lilting accent and boyish, playful smile! The moment he had met that man, the cold-hearted Sherlock who was so far married to his work, had felt his heart burst out of his chest. To his delight James, whom he now called Jim, had reciprocated after the first few weeks, returning his affections with full force. 

There had been steamy sex during nights, quiet cuddles in the mornings, long and intense discussions during evenings, sighs of longing and happiness during days. They had been, irrespective of the same-sex relationship, like any other couple that had newly fallen in love. Sherlock had spent half his salary gifting Jim various items, from a new suit to new hats, ties, a pocketwatch and books. Jim was a journalist with a London newspaper and also a student of medicine, intending to become a surgeon. He too had spent much as he bought lavish gifts for Sherlock, expensive tobacco, ivory handled pipe, a beautiful plush long coat, scarves and other knick-knacks. 

Tonight, Sherlock had a very special gift for his lover in his pocket. It was a small ring box containing a gold band with their names carved on the inside and three small heart shaped rubies embedded on the outside. 

Though he was very grateful for the way James had helped him with the Ripper case, it was not a thank-you gift but an engagement proposal. Thanks to the tip-off James had given him, he had successfully arrested Jack the Ripper, the notorious criminal who had garnered world-wide media frenzy and sent shock-waves rippling through London. It had turned out to be a royal lackey who was acting on behalf of a scornful and slightly mad master and the man had confessed to the crime before committing suicide. London was now free of terror and even though Scotland Yard couldn’t publish the name of the criminal, the law-keepers and the government were unanimously relieved that the serial killer, nabbed by Sherlock Holmes, was no longer a threat on the streets. 

As Sherlock walked home, a light drizzle began to fall. He checked his watch. By now James would be in his flat, 221B Baker Street, half his clothes already shed on the bed, smiling that delectable smile as he waited to be ravished and plundered by his ‘Sherly’. 

James was a brilliant man himself and therefore recognized the brilliance in Sherlock easily. Both were ahead of their time and head over shoulders above the ordinary. That sometimes made them ‘misunderstood men’ but once they had found each other they had never again been bitter about the world. The world could go to hell for all they cared, as long as they had each other they would manage nicely on their own. 

When he entered the flat though, his good mood faded. 

No sign of James. 

“Jim?” He called out, hoping it was not one of his lover’s childish tricks. He was such a child sometimes, refreshingly playful. 

No answer. 

He frowned. It had been ten months since he had met James, nine since they started getting intimate and not once had James missed his commitment. He was there at the flat at the stroke of seven in the evening, even during the difficult and long days when Sherlock and James were both working on the Jack the Ripper case as police officer and journalist. Then why the exception tonight, a night when they were supposed to celebrate. 

Sherlock set down the bottle of wine and took off his coat. The moment he started to hang it up, he noticed an envelope stuck between two coat hooks. It was addressed to him. James’ neat calligraphic handwriting, a simple ‘Hey Sherly’ in blue ink. 

He opened the envelope and started to read the letter. 

``````

Hey Sherly

By the time you read this letter I would have left the country and that part of the world. This is not a prank or a joke. Read this letter carefully and in the next few lines you will find all the answers to the questions swirling in your head, some of which you won’t like perhaps, but it is what it is. 

I am and will always be the one and only Jack the Ripper. The ladies I killed had done nothing to personally offend me. I had no reason to take their lives. But then that’s what I am, I don’t wait for others to give me a reason to do something. I do what I have to do, what I find interesting enough to do. So then, I had three reasons for becoming Jack. One, I wanted to see if theories I had learned as a journalist were useful enough to pull the wool over the eyes of the law. Two, I wanted to ‘practice’ a bit before I started doing actual surgeries. Three, I wanted to prove to myself that I could fool you, even you, Scotland Yard’s biggest pride and joy. 

I had a blast doing what I did. As I took life after life, I revelled in the ecstasy of changing those unfortunates into victims of an unknown menace, thereby elevating their status from being disrespected and obscure to pitied and publicized. Who would have heard their names or seen their faces unless they would have gotten killed in the most spectacular fashion. At the same time, I felt a severe sense of accomplishment as I fooled the law and citizens day after day, night after night. Imagine my humour as I reported my own crimes. I also sent the ‘dear boss’ letter. I am ambidextrous, hence that letter, written by my right hand, was something even you couldn’t recognize. 

I kept pointing you out to a direction away from me and you took my word for it, chasing that idiot royal lackey, till he too believed that in some way he was the offender. Maybe he was, because while he hadn’t committed ‘these’ murders, he had killed others for the sake of his debauch and immoral master earlier. No sympathies for fools and murderers like him please, you didn’t hang any innocent man. He died of his own fears, fears of karma which haunted him. 

Now you must be wondering dear Sherly, why I chose to get intimate with you. Here I think I will fail to convince you. 

I think I loved you, in my own way, a sordid and twisted kind of love maybe but it was love. And it was great while it lasted. Before a ring pops out and you get too deep in there, I had to do this, I had to leave. 

Try to forget me Sherlock. Move on. The world has a lot to offer and, at thirty-two, you have a lot to offer it back. 

Best wishes and congratulations on your promotion

James Isaac Moriarty 

```````

No no no no, no-n-no, NO this could NOT be happening to him. Jim, his Jim, couldn’t be the killer, couldn’t have lied to him and used him like this, then left him behind as if he was dispensable! Sherlock slid down against the wall and screamed. 

His landlady Mrs Hudson found him the next morning, passed out on the floor drunk and soiled with his own vomit.

***

“You idiot,” Jeremy Moriarty, Jim’s elder brother and a Brigadier posted in India, looked at his younger brother in shock, “Why did you do this? I could have helped you. I could have found you a nice home somewhere, maybe New Zealand, maybe Japan, why did you nip it in the bud? For the first time I saw you happy, for the first time you found someone who was a perfect mate and an intellectual equal.” 

“Scotland Yard is a strange place brother,” Jim whispered, eyes swollen from crying too much and face pale from his sadness and loneliness, “They would have found out sooner or later. My editor did and fired me. Instantly I did this to protect him and left the country. If push came to shove he would have given up his job, refused his promotion and started a destitute and obscure life just to be with me. I had to do this, had to make him feel I was not what he thought I was.” 

“Yeah, so he hates you and thinks you are the murderer,” Jeremy sighed, “So he regrets ever knowing you and never looks for you again? But I do admire your noble gesture and the quick wit you showed by escaping to India. It’s a great country, rich in resources and possibilities, you can make a good career and home here, you can be rich and retire with lots of funds. And nobody here will ever point a finger at a ‘white sahib’, no matter who he fucks and sleeps with.” 

Just then a knock on the door made them put their guard up again. Jim wiped his eyes and straightened his back while Jeremy put on a fake smile. A dazzling handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes entered the room. “You called me sir,” the man saluted. 

He looked curiously at Jim but Jim resolutely kept his eyes on the floor. He was in no mood for company though he could easily guess why his doting elder brother had called this man, a remarkably good looking man, at this odd hour at the bungalow. 

“Yes Colonel Sebastian Augustus Moran,” Brigadier Moriarty introduced the two men, “This is my younger brother Jim, James Isaac Moriarty. He arrived two days ago at the Bombay port. He will be working here as a surgeon at the National Hospital and also deliver lectures as a mathematics professor at the local university. But before he begins work, I was hoping you could take him with you on some of your hunting sojourns, so he gets to know the country and its people well.” 

Blue eyes met brown and Sebastian Moran smiled, eyes fixed on Jim’s face, an approving smile curling around his lips when the younger man finally looked at him. “Of course Brigadier sir,” Sebastian said in his deep baritone, “That can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit of Mormor hint at the end but I didn't choose to confirm it. Leaving it to readers to make their own assumptions!


	13. Day 13 - Silk Lace and Strings (Prompt - Cross dressing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wants Sherlock in saucy lingerie. Irene chips in to help (not a M/M/F)

Irene nearly choked on her coffee, “You….will be cooking dinner?” 

Jim frowned, “Bitch! You think I can’t?” 

The dominatrix let out a few peals of laughter while Jim looked at her menacingly and reached for the kitchen knives. Instantly Irene sobered up and snatched the knife-stand away from him, sliding it down the counter as she took his wrist and kissed it. “Jim, come on, please give me a little leeway for surprises here. You have been a fearsome criminal mastermind, one who killed and destroyed and blew up things, and now you are trying to cook dinner for the same man you once sent me to, saying he was a blushing virgin whom I could seduce and get a secret code out of.” 

“So,” Jim found it hard to remain angry but he kept up the scowl, “People do change.” 

“I am happy to see the change, though this means I get no further business from you.” She smiled. 

“You have enough money,” he muttered. 

“You have way more than me, even after surrendering three fourths of your wealth,” she replied teasingly, “Enough to have a cook and a housekeeper.” 

“We do have a cook and a housekeeper,” Jim protested, “But this is the weekend. Over weekends we have the house to ourselves, Sherlock and I, and mostly we order takeaway. Aside from breakfast, which he always prepares. For a change I thought maybe I could….” 

“Surprise him?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Or get your way with him.” 

“Shut up bitch.” 

She kept giving him pointed, meaningful, cunning, smirking looks till he relented and threw his arms up in the air. “Yeah-yeah so I do want him to indulge me with one of my kinky fantasies. From that very time that we first slept together, I wanted him to do this for me, at least once, but he just refuses to agree. So if he comes home and sees his favourite food on the table, all home-cooked, sees the effort I put into things, he might just make me very lucky tonight.” 

“Hmmm, and what fantasy is that?” 

“Irene I swear….” 

“Okay Jim, maybe you should say ‘Irene I swear if you help me with this I will give you the villa in Naples for your use, two months of the year.”

Jim blinked and before he knew he was nodding in agreement. Irene looked accomplished and slid off the chair to stand next to him beside the counter. “But first let me help you with the cooking. You aren’t going to make him say yes with burned and blistered offerings.” 

***

Sherlock was not a man who was terribly fond of food. He was used to skipping meals for an entire day till someone literally forced him to eat something. But when he returned home on a Saturday evening to the appetizing aroma of roasted goose with gravy, spicy prawns in wine sauce, pasta, roasted potatoes and parsnips and devilled eggs, he couldn’t help but rub his hands in glee. His happiness knew no bounds when he found that Jim, his Jim, had cooked all of these things for him. Well, maybe the cook had come over for a little while and helped but there was no denying the love and effort invested in those dishes. 

“This is amazing,” he said, burping softly, “Thanks for this. I haven’t eaten so much in half my lifetime I guess.” 

“Come here babe,” the detective whispered a rare endearment. Jim blushed as Sherlock took his hand and pulled him down on his lap, his inevitable overture when he was turned on and ready for a steamy evening and night of sex. They had sex every night but every single time Sherlock did this, he was actually agreeable to becoming putty in Jim’s hands and let him do whatever he desired with him. Last time it had been a dog tail and ears and a snout nose, once it had been a Greek chiton, this time Jim had it all ready for Sherlock’s use, that outfit, that sexy thing…..

“Bedroom?” Jim asked hoarsely. 

“Can we try the study table?” 

“No, bedroom.” 

“Couch? Bathtub? Shower?” 

“NOOOOO.” 

“Wall, rug, microwave oven?” 

“Wait….oven?” 

“Just kidding,” Sherlock picked Jim up in a piggyback ride, grabbing under his knees to keep him supported, “Let’s go to the bedroom.” 

Once there, Sherlock saw the items kept on top of the covers and groaned. “Seriously Jimmy, you want me to wear a lacey, see-through negligee and a G string underneath?”

Jim pouted, “You have made me wear a wedding dress five times and ripped it off me five times. And here you are, refusing to indulge me just once….!!” 

Guilt worked up inside Sherlock. How could he say no to Jim when the man had gone out of the way to cook and prepare a romantic evening for him? “All right,” he said finally, “I’ll don the negligee but those briefs…strings…whatever they are, I am not wearing them. Not in this life! Who the fuck even fits into tiny things such as those?” 

***

Jim was sure he had died and gone to Heaven because no way was he in such bliss whilst he was still on earth. His cock was rock hard and subjected to delicious friction as Sherlock, obscenely hot and sexy in the see-through negligee, bounced up and down on it. The rustle of chiffon, the slight rub of the lacey sides, Sherlock’s moans and that tight arse, everything combined to create paradise for James Moriarty, a paradise he never wanted to leave. He bucked up into the tight heat he was buried in as he watched, eyes agape, while his tall willowy lover lifted the hot pink negligee just enough to grab his own erection and start to jerk off. 

“Fuck that’s hot,” Jim gasped, “Sherly….I am going to come.” 

“No,” Sherlock warned, eyes scrunching shut at the supreme moment approached, “Just hold on, I want you to cum in my mou…..aaaaaahhh.” He couldn’t finish as his orgasm took over, the taut and perfect body arching like a bow as he experienced a tremendous climax, the lacey, chiffon lingerie stretching out over his body and hugging every corner and expanse of it. Jim bit down on his bottom lip and held on to his self-controls till Sherlock had finished riding out the aftershocks and hopped off him, kissing his way down to the throbbing wet cock. 

As soon as those lips closed around him, Jim came. 

Then he remembered nothing for several minutes, just darkness and colourful spots dancing in it, sounds of Sherlock slurping and his own unbridled cries. By the time he came to, Sherlock was naked and cleaning him up gently and lovingly. 

“Never again okay?” The detective said in a tone of friendly warning. 

“I loved it though….” Jim yawned. 

“Okay maybe just once a year…..fuck what’s that?” 

Someone had entered their house. 

Jim sat up in alarm, voice tight, “Sherlock untie me.” 

Which Sherlock did but right then the lights went off. Both men took in sharp breaths. This didn’t really seem good. “Jimmy you stay here and keep your gun with you while I go and check the fuse,” Sherlock whispered, handing Jim the gun, “I will be armed too. Now if only I could find my bloody clothes in this darkness….shit….I can’t face an intruder wearing this negligee….oh yeah, my underwear.” 

Sherlock pulled it on and realized, after he had literally jousted with it and managed to get it up to its destination, that it had suddenly become too tight. He wriggled his butt and tried to adjust himself when he realized someone else was in the room and Jim was not reacting to that person’s presence at all. Realization hit him too late and he yelled, ‘You two rascals are at it again’ when the lights abruptly switched back on. 

Irene collapsed on the floor laughing while Jim clasped his mouth with both hands and doubled up on the bed, pulling the covers over his waist to cover his lap. Sherlock looked own his body in dismay and realized that in the darkness he had pulled on that one item of clothing he refused to wear even at Jim’s request. The stringy, lacey, tiny G string. And now his dick was barely confined by the lace covered front pouch while his family jewels hung side by side in the open, the string running a path between them and dividing them up. He sensed that had he worn it earlier, when Jim had asked him to, it would have been a hot and dirty moment in bed. But right now it was nothing but hilarious. 

“I planned to scare the two of you and ask you how the cross dressing went,” Irene spoke breathlessly, still chuckling, “Just for a few laughs. But it seems I stumbled into a goldmine.” 

And before anyone could react, she snapped a photograph of Sherlock like that. 

“Delete that,” Sherlock said sternly, “I am warning you….” 

“Irene no,” Jim was annoyed too, “You can’t keep it.” 

“Took it on his own phone silly,” Irene tossed the phone to Jim, “Sherlock’s phone which he left outside on the couch. I suggest you keep this pic. Twenty years later you can use this to laugh and cheer yourselves up after a boring day between an old married couple.” 

“We will never be so,” Jim looked at Sherlock, “Right?” 

“No, never,” the detective replied, then realized he was still standing there in that ridiculous woman’s underwear. “Still don’t think what you guys did to me is fair,” Sherlock rushed to the bathroom to get the darn thing off and wrap a bathrobe around himself. 

“Oh Sherlock,” Irene called out after him, “None of us forced you to wear it. You did it all by yourself my sexy man!”

In the meantime, Jim winked at Irene, “Thanks!” 

Irene winked back, “By the way, I also installed a video cam behind the headboard so you can replay the whole thing as many times as you want. I envy you, you lucky bastard!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'man getting into a woman's lacy stringy underpants by mistake' is an example from my own past experience with a boyfriend long, long ago *evil grin*


	14. Day 14 - Wet Wet Wet (Prompt - Rain/Romance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock want to surprise each other on a rainy day and end up surprising their flat mates instead.

Jim had just finished the conference call when a sensuous, rhythmic sound hit his senses. His eyes widened and he rushed past Sebastian, his bodyguard, flatmate and sniper, to throw open the Venetian blinds and stare into the scenery outside. 

London was besieged by rain. Glorious and relentless summer rain. Those tiny droplets on the French windows, that pitter-patter sound, it was like an orchestra playing something tailor made for his senses. 

The rain always reminded him of Sherlock and Jim was seized with a severe longing to see the detective. Rainy days held wonderful memories for them and the two men loved such days! So many such days when they’d spend the entire afternoon sitting naked before a roaring fire and playing chess or poker, several days in the past when they ended up making love all day, waking up, fucking again, shower, a quick bite, a quickie, falling asleep once more, all of these activities performed in the backdrop of the wonderful rain. Sherlock always enjoyed the rain, it made him horny and cuddly and Jim always took full advantage of it. 

“Boss,” Sebastian asked, “Where are you going?” 

“Sebby, take the rest of the day and maybe the night off.” 

“But boss….” 

“Remember who the boss is. Don’t question me.” 

“But if we need an extraction plan…” 

“No way! For this I am hoping I can’t be extracted!” 

Sebastian did a facepalm and gritted his teeth together. Of all the work in the world, he had to choose this job, protecting a madman who just didn’t care about his own safety. By then he heard the door open and close, Jim had left the house!

***

Sherlock woke up from a short nap with a jump. “It’s raining,” he said, lips curving upwards into a smile. 

John looked up from the newspaper he was reading, “Yeah and it had rained before. What’s with that?” 

Sherlock didn’t answer him. He was already in his happy headspace, imagining and remembering some moments from the past. Moments with Jim, his Jim, he and Jim, Jim and him, in this rain, oh God it would be so much fun! They would make love on the couch, then lie down on the rug before the fireplace and he would beat Jim’s arse in poker while Jim whipped his arse in a game of chess. Then they’d make love like tigers, then cuddle like kittens and he would hold his Jim in his arms till the smaller man dozed off. Yes, all of this while the rain beat down on the glass pane of the windows and the grey skies turned a bright and hot day into a soft, cool and semi-lit evening. God, he had to go and find his nemesis turned lover and surprise him!

“Sherlock where are you going?” John jumped up when he saw Sherlock walk out of the flat, a spring in his step, “Look at the weather outside.” 

“That’s it,” Sherlock said over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs, “The weather!” He didn’t wait for any further replies from John as he ran down the staircase and was out of the door within a mere minute, donning his raincoat on the way and wading into the streets that were already slushy and filled with puddles thanks to the constant downpour. While the rest of the world tried to find shelter somewhere, tried to keep themselves dry, tried to get home, Sherlock braved the rain and walked on towards his destination. A certain address on Conduit street where a certain criminal mastermind lived!

***

Jim stopped by a store and bought a bottle of fine wine that cost him three hundred pounds. 

A further walk down the street and he stopped again, looking at a store that sold a great variety of really nice cheese. He walked in and bought some from there, pairing it up with the wine he had just purchased. 

As he walked on the streets, unbothered by the danger he was putting himself into, he felt a sense of freedom come over him. Let them come for me, he thought, let them think I am more of a madman than they already believe, I shall go and see Sherlock just now. And nobody, just nobody in this world would stop him from reaching the man he loved so much! His feet splashed past puddles, his suit getting drenched and clinging to his skin as cars honked wildly when he ran past them, through them, a huge grin on his face. It was raining! It was raining! This was their day, their very own day!

At one point he noticed a poor man trying to stay inside a yawning he had made in an alley, making failed attempts at keeping himself dry. Jim stared down at his own clothes and, on an impulse, took off his suit jacket and handed it to that poor man. 

You are getting soft Jim, his inner voice told him. 

“I don’t care,” he answered it aloud. 

***

Sherlock was skipping and leaping past waterlogged areas when he noticed two kids and their mommy struggling in the rain. 

Thoughtlessly he took off his raincoat and handed it to the drenched and shivering mother who was trying her best to keep her kids dry by holding the lone umbrella they had over their tiny little heads. Before she could even thank him he had walked on ahead with long and quick strides. 

On the way he spotted a store with all kinds of men’s accessories. He knew Jim loved tie pins. He stepped inside the store, ignoring the aghast look of the sales clerk closest to the door when water dripped off his clothes and left a wet trail on the spotless and tidy tiled floor of the shop. Sherlock looked at various tie pins in silver, holding them in his hands. In his romance-laden imagination he saw Jim appear before him and shake his head at a few before he nodded happily when Sherlock held out a magpie tie-pin and another one shaped like the British monarch’s crown. 

Paying for the tie pins with his credit card, he didn’t even wait for the bill to be generated and handed over to him. He grabbed the two boxes, stuffed them into his shirt pocket to shield them from the rain and ran back outside again. The cashier and the sales clerks gave him wide eyed stares but he didn’t notice as he felt the rain come down on him again. Turning his face up to the rain, feeling the droplets hit his face, a huge goofy grin gracing his handsome Modigliani features, he raced on towards his lover’s house. Only another mile to go and he would be there!

He wondered if Jim would be waiting naked for him. 

***

“John?” 

“Hey Sebastian how are you? I was about to call you.” 

There was silence on the call for a moment and then the two former military comrades started to laugh out hard and loud. They knew what the other was calling about but, for the sake of humour, had to call it out in as many words as needed. Sebastian was the one to go for it first. “Your colleague, flatmate, friend and the great consulting detective Sherlock Holmes is here, drenched as a pigeon on a rooftop, two small gift boxes in his hands, and some flowers too….imagine flowers….they are in bad shape and half smashed though.” 

John gasped with laughter as he answered, “And there is a shivering criminal mastermind here at 221B, with a bottle of wine and some yummy cheese and a book, which is as soaked as he is. At first he was angry to see me instead of Sherlock and threatened to turn me into a saddle but when he realized where the whole goof was, he is now sitting on the couch and sulking like a child.” 

“So brother, what do we do?” 

“Must say they were just being romantic fools.” 

“Can’t believe it though.” 

“I can’t believe they didn’t meet half-way to each other’s house.” 

They laughed heartily again before John heard cursing inside the flat and a corresponding annoyed shout somewhere behind Sebastian. “They are getting twitchy Colonel,” John suppressed his laughter and lowered his voice, “I think twitchy brilliant eccentric men are highly injurious to our health.”

Sebastian paused for a few seconds and said, “In that case I have an idea Captain! If you can manage to avoid Mycroft Holmes’ surveillance and bring him over to Conduit Street, I promise a nice hot meal, we can all share the wine and cheese and get to some thrilling game of cards through the evening. I’ll send the car to the next street, just to be safe. Oh and yeah, bring some clean and dry clothes for the curly haired one, he has started to sneeze and sniffle.”

“This one refuses to wear my clothes so keep his clothes ready too,” John replied, already walking back into the flat, “Unless you want a sick criminal tomorrow.” 

“What is it about rain? Why did they do this?” 

“That’s something I believe, none of us will ever know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a sequel to this one so even though the end seems abrupt, it's not the end yet!


	15. Day 15 - Poor Sick Consultants (Prompt - Sick day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is technically not Sheriarty but I thought Johnny boy and Sebby Tiger deserve some space too. They are after all the second in command men to our geniuses!

A monstrous sneeze sent bits of chewed pancakes flying all over the place, some of it landing straight on to Sebastian’s morning newspaper. The sniper looked up and commented, “You look like Rudolf the red nose reindeer Jim.” 

Jim managed to snarl but in his current condition it looked comical, “I’b gonnga skib you asshole.” 

“Yeah we shall see to that once you are better and able to say ‘I am gonna skin you asshole’ Jim,” Sebastian got up from the table, looking at the pale, runny nosed, coughing little man in front of him, “Or when you can have a few bites of your beloved pancake without giving me a shower of pre-chewed food. Seriously, you hate being sick and yet you go off walking in the rain, refuse to let John loan you clothes, and now you’re sounding like a little child with a blocked nose. All right then, first things first, I am cancelling all your conference calls today and tomorrow.” 

“You bouldd’t dare!” 

“Oh yes I would. After a client called me to check why you wanted him to include a ‘border’ in his requests.” 

“I meant burder,” Jim protested. 

“Murder I suppose, but even I heard border.” 

“Shut up.” 

“No, you will shut up before one of our snipers kill Mr Stoddard instead of a Mr Stoner. That’s another result of you on a phone call in your current condition.” 

“Shebby….” 

“What?” 

“You bight wabt to call to bake another chabge.” 

“I might want to call to make another change in your orders? Right, will do, now which one would that be?” 

“I asked for arbsd ban.” 

“Oh fuck, you asked for an arms-ban instead of an armed man?”

“……………..”

“Jesus, I will have to talk to whoever you spoke this morning then.”

Sebastian took a contrite but whiny Jim by the hand and led him to the bedroom where he put the man to bed, handed him a hot water bottle, a box of tissues and gave him a few quick medications and home remedies to treat the cold. From a vapor rub to a couple of spoons of day nurse, a concoction of ginger and honey to treat the chest congestion, an extra blanket and a betadine gargle, he forced the protesting, nasal, whiny criminal to do whatever he said for a change. 

He would deal with the repercussions later, for now he had to do what needed to be done. When Jim Moriarty was sick he turned into something like a grown-up baby and he needed some stern yet gentle caring. 

***

“Bobody orders Sherlock Hobes,” Sherlock tried to sound cold and commanding but ended up sounding weak and sickly instead. His eyes were watery, he had a fever and his chest was congested. Every single time he coughed, John was sure it sounded like a drum being played, or maybe a bongo. Still, when he had requested his friend to stay in bed and take his medication, the man had been so rude and dismissive that John had to put a gun to his temple to make him listen. He knew that Sherlock wouldn’t take the threat seriously but it would hurt his sentiments enough to make him obey. 

“Johb, I bill neber forgibe you,” the detective whined as John tucked the covers all around him, securing him in the swathe of blankets. 

“You are not speaking to anyone with that horribly nasal and muddled voice and that terrible accent,” John said strictly as he checked his friend’s temperature, “Uffff….hold still now, let me hold the thermometer properly, stop wriggling like a cat. You called Lestrade a ‘bastard’ and he was upset to no end. Only when I explained to him how sick you were and how you were mixing up your consonants did he understand and relent a little. You also managed to call Andersen an idiot and Donovan a bull. At this rate, the whole force of Scotland Yard will be your enemy and we can’t have that now, can we?”

“I called Bestrade a Bestrade.” 

“Yeah, precisely.” 

“Abd Dobovan bull…as ib dhick.” 

John rolled his eyes, “Yeah, you called her a bull and now you’re calling her a dick.” 

“Dttthhhick.” Sherlock spoke with so much effort his spittle landed on John’s nose, which the doctor wiped off with another eyeroll. 

“Oh thick?” He said with a grin, “Oh Lord, that means you called her dull.” 

Sherlock nodded, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from the fever. 

John looked at him crookedly, “What’s the excuse with Andersen.” 

“He ish ab idiot. No bistakes there.”

John put away the thermometer and said gently, “I will get you a bowl of steaming hot water with eucalyptus oil added to it. Good for the cold and to clear a blocked nose. But really Sherlock, you do have a raised temperature and your body needs rest while it fights the germs. Trying to solve any cases in this condition will seriously harm your reputation and your well-being. Imagine you want to yell ‘arrest’ and end up making it sound like ‘a breast’. Okay fine, don’t look so furious, maybe it’s a big of an exaggeration but as a doctor I am not letting you out of this bed and this flat till your temperature is normal and you can speak like a normal adult.”

“By phone please,” Sherlock begged, “Bycroft bight beed me.” 

“Mycroft bit you?” 

“Jawwwwn.” 

“The answer is NO.” 

“I hate being ib bed, useless.”

“Then you should have done better than to go off running in the rain to see some consulting criminal.” 

“He has a bame. Jib.” 

John snickered, “I wish I could record you Sherlock.”

***

“Hey John.” 

“Hey Sebastian. How is it going there?” 

“Don’t talk about it,” Sebastian groaned but from his voice John could clearly make out he was smiling, “A consulting criminal who inspires fear in every heart was whining all day about how he was going to die and a sniper who kills for a living reading him Russian fairy tales because he remembered and missed his granny too much. Imagine that, a man thinks he can actually die from common cold and sneezing and someone like me reading out of Russian pop-up story books.” 

John was silent. 

“John you still there?” 

“Yeah. Seems like I have had a similar day here at Baker Street. I was on my way to the clinic when Sherlock called me desperately and I rushed back, only to have him tell me he needed the box of tissues from the kitchen. Then he took his medication and was so loopy that he sent me on a wild goose chase inside the flat for a ‘rodent’ that had accidentally gotten in. Eventually it turned out to be Mrs Hudson’s bathroom slippers which she had forgotten while vacuuming the living room.” 

Again there was silence. 

Sebastian let out a whisper of a sigh, “Crazy lunatics they both are, brilliant as they might be! Two tough men who could be hellcats if they want, and yet they are crumbling down to a toddler status because of a bit of cold and flu. Even as a man I have to admit that women are right when they say they are tougher. While women would still find a way to get back on their feet even after a surgery, men act worse than kids at the slightest sign of a headache or a common cold or nausea” 

“Why do we do this for them Seb? Why? What do we get out of all this shit we take? They don’t love us, they love each other.” 

Seb answered with a wistful smile, “Because we are friends? Real friends!” 

***

The next day both John and Sebastian woke up to find little notes next to their pillow. 

John opened it and smiled. ‘Dear John – Thanks for yesterday and sorry to put you through a shitload of trouble. I realized I adore you more than my chemistry lab kit and having you around feels just as exciting as seeing fresh cadavers delivered to our flat by Molly. I feel much better today and had to go out for work early in the morning. However, I plan to be back by six to take you out to dinner, a nice and hot and spicy Thai meal. You pick the restaurant – Sherlock’. PS: One more thing….Jim will be there too.

Sebastian opened his letter and grinned from ear-to-ear. ‘Hey Sebby/Basher/Bastian/ Tiger/Mother Hen when I am sick – You did the right thing by forcing me to rest because I feel so much better this morning that I have already ordered three assassinations. As a small token of thanks for putting up with my silly self yesterday, I have decided to give you a day and evening off to go drinking with your army buddies. I also took the liberty of reserving ‘Brew King’ for you guys for the whole evening. Enjoy – Jabes….oops James Moriarty’. PS: After a drink come back home to play cards? Um….Sherlock will be here too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those who leave comments and kudos, I am grateful. It keeps me going faster at it (I would finish this even if I get none but that added motivation and hearing your thoughts helps me, like any fanfiction author)!!!


	16. Day 16 - The Escort (Prompt - Prostitution)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a prostitute. Jim is a rich entrepreneur on a business trip.

James Moriarty stood indecisively before the closed door to the suite he had rented for the night. Or rather, what his friend Sebastian had rented on his behalf that night, along with an escort, as a thirtieth birthday gift for the man. 

He had never done this before. Never paid for sexual gratification. Or company. Or to celebrate a milestone in his life. 

But Sebastian had insisted that he let his hair down and do something radically different and James couldn’t blame his friend for that suggestion. Over the past two years he had become a recluse, a workaholic, a man who shunned company and laughter so he could bury himself in his work and then mope alone over a drink when he finally got a breather. The sudden death of his parents, his fiancé Jude and his elder sister Janet had left James with a huge fortune and a large automobile parts-manufacturing company to run, but also a deluge of tears and a galaxy of loneliness and sadness to grapple with. He had sought therapy, tried medications, did everything possible but the depression still lingered. 

The door opened suddenly and a tall, curly haired, green eyed man with aquiline features and well-defined cheekbones stood wearing a smart suit and a tie. Had James not known, he would have thought he was at the wrong suite. This fellow didn’t look like an escort. He looked like a prince. An intelligent sophisticate. 

“H-Hello…I am Moriarty.” 

“Sherlock.” 

“What?” 

“Yes that’s my name. Very unusual, I know, I get that a lot.” 

James lingered there, outside the door, till a firm grip on his arm made him grasp. Before he knew it he was gently pulled into the suite and the door closed behind him. He instinctively took a step towards the now closed door, as if marking a flight path for himself. 

“Look Mr. Moriarty,” Sherlock said in a kindly voice, “I can sense you were not in favour of this. But we need not treat it as a night of sexual adventures and explorations. Perhaps we could just talk. I am a high-class escort, which means I have university degree, a great deal of training on manners and modest speech, I read a lot therefore I can talk on a variety of things and I am also a trained and expert masseuse. If you wish to utilize my services merely for companionship, I am game.” 

James relaxed visibly and said, “Thank you. I think that might be a good idea.” 

“Let’s have a drink to begin with?” 

“Sure.” 

“Have you ever tried Between the Sheets?” James almost jumped. Then he realized, at Sherlock’s bemused expression, that he meant the cocktail. “No, not yet, but I would love to try.” 

***

There was something about Sherlock that made him relax and unwind easily in the man’s company. Two hours and three cocktails later, James’s suit jacket and tie had come off and so had his shoes and socks. They now sat on the same couch and James’s brain was in that pleasant and fuzzy space when he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. So, when Sherlock asked him why he looked like the saddest man on earth despite being a good looking, rich and successful businessman, the Irishman didn’t brush him off. Instead he narrated the life-changing events from year 2012. 

“That would be two years ago,” Sherlock observed solemnly. 

“I was supposed to be on that chopper with them,” James mumbled, trying to fight back the tears like he always did, “But there wasn’t enough space. My fiancé took my spot and also my death. In one stroke that chopper crash robbed me of everyone who was dear to me, from my boyfriend of seven years to my elder sister and my parents. Even the chopper pilot, Simon, was my Godfather and someone I was very close to. It was as if God wanted me to be punished in the cruellest way possible.” 

“Maybe you should thank God for the years you got with them,” Sherlock said as he placed a sympathetic hand over James’, “Too often we don’t value what we have till we lose it.” 

“You’re right,” realization hammered through James’ head, “I hadn’t valued them enough. I would complain when mum called, I’d consider dad too controlling when he tried to advise me on business, I thought Jude was always nagging me to spend more time with him and my last memory of Janet is an argument over how I never visited her anymore. Sherlock, you hit the nail on the head, I have been angry with myself, not with God.” 

“Perhaps time to let the anger go?” Sherlock asked. 

“Easier said than done,” James grumbled. 

“Easier done than said,” Sherlock countered, “When we say things too much we don’t intend to do it. Like liars keep saying ‘I don’t lie, I only tell the truth’.” 

James somehow felt lighter after this confession and extended his now empty glass, “You make a mean Between the Sheets. Another one please?” 

“Sure,” Sherlock said, “And afterwards, how about a foot massage.” 

***

 

An hour later Sherlock had James pliant and relaxed, half-asleep in bed, clad in only his boxers. Sherlock himself was only in a pair of silk pajamas, showing off his lean and pale upper torso, as he expertly massaged James’ legs and back. 

“Why is a nice man like you doing this work Sherlock?” James asked after a while. 

Sherlock answered while easing out the tense knots on James’ upper back. “For starters, I am doing this for a man I love. I have to do this, to get to the place where I can claim him as mine. You need to go through dark tunnels before you reach your spot under the sun, so they say, but I feel even the dark tunnels needn’t be our worst moments in life. All we need to do is strike a match and light a torch, to see what truly lies within our reach. I don’t feel any job is small, or menial, or dishonourable. It sounds strange, all these big words and philosophy, coming from a prostitute, doesn’t it?” 

“You’re not a prostitute, don’t demean yourself please.” 

“Escort, paid companion, whore, prostitute, different words but at the end of the day it’s that one profession right?” 

“And it’s the oldest profession in human history. Only fools will insult it, especially those fools who pay for it, are a part of it, and yet call it names.” 

“You are a good man James.” 

“Call me Jim.” 

“Jim.” 

“I think you are a good man too.” 

“Why?” 

“You are doing this for love. I hope the lucky guy you love will recognize your efforts, the intention behind those efforts, and not just take your work at face value.” 

“That is debatable.” 

“Yet you are trying.” 

“That’s all we can do. Try and hope for the best. Better than not try at all, better than blame someone or something for our weaknesses.” 

James sat up abruptly, causing Sherlock to panic slightly. “Did I say something wrong?” He asked, sounding a bit hesitant.

“Not at all,” James reached out and gave him an asexual, friendly hug, “In fact you are my saviour. You did me a huge favour by telling me some things I needed to hear. Believe it or not, I have been part of this silly blame game myself. It’s been two years, there are people who love me, adore me and want me out of this ditch I have dug myself into. I wonder why I never thought of them, why I never thought of moving on, why I never allowed myself to climb out of this abyss. You saved me from being a loser.” He looked sincerely at the other man, “I am in Singapore for business for another week. How about you and me spending time every evening and night, like this, just to talk I mean….if that’s okay with you and you have no other commitments.” 

“It is incredibly okay with me Jim,” Sherlock answered enthusiastically, “I also make a mean Singapore Sling so tomorrow that’s what we can drink.” 

***

Sherlock was a man of his word and once James had deposited the amount with the agency that had sent Sherlock to him, the man showed up at the stroke of six every evening at the hotel room where James had originally booked himself for his Singapore stay and left every morning at eight thirty, only after James had left for work. For the Irishman, it was a big comfort, a source of joy and inspiration to be with Sherlock as the man discussed philosophy, mathematics, economics and mythology with him, showing himself as a truly well-read and well-spoken man. It also helped that Sherlock knew the city and took him around on some nights. 

Slowly James’ spirit began to feel alive. The life that had seeped out of him through his self-imposed exile from society and friends, began to be restored, first in his eyes and slowly into his very soul. 

They visited Clarke Quay where they did some pub hopping and then had dinner at the famous Raffles Hotel, walked down the road which was converted once a year for the Formula 1 Singapore Grand Prix street circuit race, roamed through Orchard road and even made a visit to the casinos at Sentosa. On Saturday, the day before James was to fly back to London, the man had a day off from work so Sherlock dragged him to Universal Studios where they spent a day going back to their childhood by taking turns at every ride at the theme park and buying the merchandize. 

“What a difference a week makes,” James sighed as he lay in bed, Sherlock next to him but half a hand length apart. They had spent time a friends and companions, not as sexual partners. There had been a bit of hand holding and hugs but nothing sexual. 

Oddly enough, James didn’t even want something beyond that, not when the curly haired man had confessed that someone else had his heart. 

Lucky fellow, he thought! To have this educated, cultured, cheerful and caring man for a lifetime. He had learned, during his conversations with Sherlock, that the latter worked for charities that supported orphans and war veterans, that he taught little kids to play the violin, that he spent one third of his earnings on a management course he was doing, hoping that would pave the way for a better future.

“I will miss you James.” 

“No you will not,” James answered him softly, “Promise me not to. We had a wonderful time but it ends here. That’s how it should be! You will soon get the man of your dreams while I will go back and start leading a real life. I know I can’t get back those I have lost but if they are watching me from somewhere, they’d be miserable to see me like this. I can’t let them suffer. They would have wanted me to live, be happy, find love again. I have no idea why I never looked at things this way…..” His voice cracked and he did something he had not even done at the funeral of his deceased family. He cried his eyes out. 

Sherlock held him through it and said nothing, offering his presence as support. That was all James needed from him. 

***

“Thanks Seb,” James said gratefully, “That night’s stay at the hotel you booked and the man you hooked me up with, it sort of turned my life upside down. In a good way.” 

“I have been observing you for the past month,” Sebastian said with a big smile, “You do indeed seem a new man. So, how about you meet that fellow I wanted you to meet? No pressure, just have some coffee with him and if you don’t like him, he will back off.” 

A month ago James would have blown up in anger or simply stormed out of the room on merely hearing this suggestion but he remembered Sherlock’s words ‘All we need to do is strike a match and light a torch, to see what truly lies within our reach’ and agreed to this ‘arranged date’. A delighted Sebastian organized that the very next day and when James reached that restaurant, shortly after leaving from his office, he saw a very familiar figure sitting at the appointed table, his back turned towards him. James approached him, cautious in his optimism, afraid to hope, but this man looked so much like Sherlock…..no, Sherlock was half way across the world, in Singapore. 

“Um….William?”

The man turned and gave him a beaming smile. “I told you I was doing this for the man I love. The question now is whether that very man will love me back.” 

“SHERLOCK!” 

“Yes. I am no hooker. Sorry to have lied.” 

“But…but….but….” 

“I can explain, please take a seat.” 

Which Jim did, eyes still wide with bewilderment and disbelief. 

Sherlock took his hands and kissed them. The touch of his lips felt comforting. 

“I had seen you at an auction house and fallen head over heels in love with you,” Sherlock explained, “But when I approached our common friend Sebastian and he told me what you had been through, I knew I had to do something different to win you over. Meeting you as a prospective suitor would have never helped, so I took on a new identity. I turned myself into someone you could open up with, be yourself, and allow yourself to be receptive to love again. I assure you Jim, I didn’t lie about anything but my profession, my name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes and I do indeed spend a lot on charities and my own education. Aside from that I am a very fortunate homosexual man and a businessman, just like you are.” 

James was speechless. 

“So,” Sherlock said softly, “Do I get the man for whom I became a prostitute for a week?” 

James snapped out of his daze. “You were not. We didn’t ehm….” 

“That only made me respect you more. Your grief was genuine, overpowering, but you didn’t let it lead you astray.” 

“Sherlock….” 

“Yes Jim?” 

“The answer is yes.” 

“The answer to……Oh God….You love me?” 

James nodded and they kissed for the first time, in a crowded and posh restaurant, with Sebastian watching them from three tables away and silently rooting for his friends. 

A month later James Moriarty was married to William Sherlock Scott Holmes and they lived happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following this series. We are half done. Today the second half starts.


	17. Day 17 - A Strange Painting (Prompt - TeenLock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock are sixteen year old's in high school, yet to ask each other out. 
> 
> Then something happens and Sherlock does!

“Nobody likes me.” 

“Sherlock, stop talking like a loser.” 

William Sherlock Scott Holmes looked at one of the only two friends he had in high school, James Moriarty, and shook his head in resignation. “They keep telling me I am not like them, that I am a weirdo and a freak,” his green-blue eyes looked rather empty, “They poke fun at Victor for being my friend. That girl, Anna, she was bullied because she showed interest in me. The only reason they leave you alone is because people who tangle with you disappear. Like Carl Powers, like Amelia Sandler and like Brett Chang.”

“Amelia and Brett are alive,” James murmured. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Did you have something to do with their….” 

“Sherly, shut up and get to the point.” 

“I…um…you know there is a painting exhibition at the auditorium later this week.” 

“Yes of course. I don’t paint but I have girls there who make me model for them.” 

“Braggart.” 

“Don’t be jealous virgin. I model for you too. Now tell me why you started whining.” 

“Well, so the patron for our art gallery, the man who funded our fine arts department and scholarships associated with it happens to be one Mr. Raymond Brown. He will be there personally to take a look at the hundred and fifty paintings which would be on display on Friday and if he likes any one particularly, he might even buy it. Imagine that, he will buy it and the price will be a college scholarship and some cash.”

“Very generous,” James whistled, “But our dads are not poorly and we are brilliant students. Why would we need his scholarship or cash?” 

“I do,” Sherlock said haughtily, “It will be my money, my earnings, Mycroft will finally think I am something other than the proverbial slow little brother.” 

“I could put horse shit in his shoes….” 

“No, I just want you to suggest what sort of painting I should prepare. I am quite undecided about this and asking others won’t help, all I will hear is ‘Painting yourself freak!’.”

James winked, “Give me some time to do an intel on this and get back to you. Just promise me one thing though, when you meet Mr. Raymond Brown keep your mouth shut and don’t give any smartass answers. And no on the spot deductions on the big man. Got that?”

“I won’t,” Sherlock crossed his heart, “I will be quiet as a mouse.” 

***

Sherlock heard the familiar scratch on the window and quickly opened it, pulling James into the room. They hugged each other and he grabbed James’ smaller hands in his own and rubbed them together to warm them up. Breathing out in little misty puffs, the two sixteen year olds stared at each other with the sort of adoration that only young eyes can show, a look of wonder mixed with the thrill of unexplored territory. But just as Sherlock was about to draw the smaller boy closer, Jim whispered softly, “I found out something interesting about Brown and his Pomeranian pooch!” 

“Brown and his pooch? What do we have to do with a mutt?” 

“Everything you doofus,” James hissed, keeping his voice low as Sherlock pulled him to the bed and made him sit down, “His pooch is called Lord Brown, so imagine how important it is to this man. Silly I know, but the man is loaded so let’s indulge his whims a bit, shall we? I have it on good authority that this man will allow his pooch to choose the paintings he wishes to purchase and therefore, I will ask you to paint something the pooch likes. You will paint a pile of meat and bones, fresh blood on them, very life like. Understood?” 

“James what the hell!” 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Yes I do but….” 

“The moment you say but I hear ‘everything said before that is a lie’.” 

“Do you really….I mean what’s in a pile of meat and bones? I will end up looking silly.” 

“Then there would be no change in the way people treat you when you shoot your mouth off. At least this way you won’t be offending anyone.” 

Sherlock looked at him. 

“Okay, go ahead and deduce,” James showed him a photograph of the fabulously wealthy and eccentric Raymond Brown. 

Sherlock lowered his brows and held it under the table lamp on his study table. In a mere minute, he was ready with his deductions. 

“From the way he wears his clothes and hair, he is a man who is conscious of appearances. He likes superficial beauty. I can see how immaculately his hair has been coiffed, probably by a professional hand, yet I can see grey hairs sticking out of his ears. Not a person of depth or meticulousness. He is a widower or has lost the love of his life sometime ago. Going by the locket he wears on a chain, which is rather old fashioned but could be gifted only by a woman who was once close to him, that’s my conclusion. He works out but has weak ankles, the boots he wears is specifically meant to aid people with ankle injuries and the type of build he has suggests he was an equestrian enthusiast before.” 

“Perfect, all of them correct. Now do as I told you.” 

***

James Moriarty was about to get on his bicycle to get back home when tall gangly Sherlock came running and nearly knocked him off his feet with a crushing hug. James held his breath, hoping Sherlock didn’t realize this hug was giving him a rise between his legs. He had long been fascinated by Sherlock but didn’t express his true feelings to the other boy for fear of spooking him and scaring him away. As Sherlock buried his face in James’ dark hairs, the smaller boy made up his mind to tell Sherlock to never do this again. His body was betraying him like this. 

“Guess what,” Sherlock had never looked so happy, “He bought my painting!” 

James’ eyes sparkled as well as Sherlock rattled off how the visit went, how he had been standing in one corner and ignoring the jibes from the other painters about how ‘basic and strange’ his work looked, till the mutt had jumped out of Brown’s arms and literally landed on his painting, licking at it and wagging his tail. In fact the animal looked so overjoyed that Brown got emotional and thanked Sherlock for making Lord Brown the pooch so happy! Then he had bought the painting and Sherlock had been granted his scholarship and a cash award on the side. 

“Congratulations,” James said, “Well done Sherly.” 

“Listen,” Sherlock said, “I think I will spend some of that cash. How about a…um…visit to the space museum tomorrow and dinner at your favourite Italian restaurant ‘Giancarlo’s’?” 

“Sounds like a date to me,” James quipped. 

“Only if you stay back with me at my place that night, mum and dad will be out and I will manage things with Mycroft,” Sherlock blushed redder than the colour of his bag. 

“You mean….” 

“Yeah. I like you Jim. I am probably going to make a fool out of myself by saying this but….I think I want to….you and me….” 

“Bang-Bang?” 

“JIM!!!” 

James smacked at Sherlock’s side playfully and said, “All right, all right, all right, it’s a date!” 

He would never tell Sherlock he was expecting the curly haired beauty to give in to his desires, desires that he knew his friend had curbed and held back for a long time. He would never tell Sherlock he had sneaked into the art room that morning and rubbed a juicy piece of steak all over the painting Sherlock had made, so the canine would take an instant liking towards it. He would never tell Sherlock that he was expecting their date night to culminate into sex. He would never tell Sherlock that on Sunday morning the latter would wake up, no longer a virgin. 

There were lots of things he wouldn’t say. 

Talk was cheap. Actions were more important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, some rich old buggers can be 'this' attached to their pets :-)


	18. Day 18 - Which one are you (Prompt - GoT)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock take online quizzes to see which GOT character they are. The results don't make them happy!

Sherlock looked down at Jim who was lying with his head on the detective’s lap. His eyes were glued to his iPad and he was, as usual, tap-tap-tapping away on it the same way he would do on three laptops and four phones at the same time. 

“Clearly, snatching away all your devices hasn’t helped,” Sherlock couldn’t resist the snarky remark. 

Jim didn’t bother to look up or stop doing what he was doing. He simply went on with it while he answered in his trademark sing-song but utterly confident and nonchalant voice. “Sooorry Sherly, sorrrry to disappoint you but taking my devices away wooon’t help you at all,” he grinned from ear to ear, looking utterly adorable if one ignored the mad glint in his bottomless dark eyes, “On a serious note, I confiscated your iPad and programed all the stuff I need on this tablet in just thirty minutes. I am a master hacker and coding specialist too, you see!” He turned his head and gave a small kiss on Sherlock’s crotch, “Woohooo, something in there!” 

Sherlock groaned, “You are stirring things up.” 

“Maaaybeee!” 

“Well don’t.” 

“Why not? We are boyfriends.” 

“Yeah sure. Stir it all up and then get on to a two hour conference call. Then fall asleep with the headphones still on and I have to drag your sleepy arse to bed and jerk off while sniffing at your underpants.” 

Jim looked pleased, “Say that again.” 

“Just pretend you didn’t hear it.” 

“Nah-nah-nah, that’s kinky! Just tell me do you do this often? Sniff my underpants to get off on your own?” 

“Um….those six pairs that went missing….I actually have them all.” 

Jim rolled his eyes, “Damn it, this thing is almost out of battery. I have to charge….no, no, give it back, give it back to me or else I will skin you make a cover for it Sherlock!” 

Sherlock snickered, “Well tough luck on that one. Now sit up, listen to me, let’s do this together now. We both watch Game of Thrones, right? Every Sunday, one episode, because we occasionally like seeing people die on screen! Now, how about we take this online quiz to see which GOT character we might be? I bet you will be Jaime Lannister or Robert Baratheon!” 

Jim frowned, “A no good incestuous idiot who can wield a sword, that’s all? Or a drunk and fat king who is past his prime?” 

“Oh God, that’s not what I meant,” Sherlock pacified him with a cuddle, “I meant some of their characteristics. Jaime is good looking and Robert was a great warrior. That’s what I meant. Okay now, let’s take the quiz together instead of making second guesses.” 

Jim agreed, if merely to prove Sherlock wrong about the whole deduction he had just made. He loved to do that and Sherlock had played on that weakness of his, to pry his busy bee lover out of his work orbit and do something fun together. The detective smirked when he saw Jim begin to answer the questions on John’s laptop while Sherlock started to take the quiz on his own MacBook. For a few minutes there was silence in the room, apart from the occasional ‘What the fuck kinda question is this’ from Jim or ‘This is such a stupid set of answers’ from Sherlock. Jim tried to crane his neck and peer into Sherlock’s quiz but the curly haired man gently nudged him away with a ‘no peeking’ warning. 

Suddenly Jim erupted. 

“What the fuck! This is bogus.” 

“Why?” Sherlock asked. His results were still being quantified. 

“I got a cross….” 

“You mean part this character and part that?” 

“Yeah, no shit. I am a cross between Tyrian the imp and Daenerys Targaryen. A dwarf and a woman!!!” 

“Did they ask for your height and the way you pout?” Sherlock couldn’t stop himself. 

Jim was about to smash the laptop on Sherlock’s head in anger when the detective’s dismayed yelp made him hold back. “You got your results?” He asked wickedly, “What did they choose for you?” 

“Um…it’s a double cross if I can say so. Cersei, Ned Stark and….and Renly Baratheon.” 

Jim erupted in howls of laughter while a very peeved Sherlock pushed both laptops away and folded his arms across his chest, glaring at his nemesis turned lover turned long term partner. Though he was also guilty of laughing at Jim a while ago, it didn’t feel very good when the tables were reversed. But then suddenly an idea came over him and his sneer turned into a naughty, horny, almost predatory expression. 

Jim realized and stopped, still breathless from the bout of laughter, “What?” 

“Renly was gay, Ned Stark was a man of principles and Cersei would screw anyone if they are sexy.”

Jim looked confused for a change, “So? What does that prove?” 

Sherlock grabbed Jim and lifted him up easily, making the criminal yelp and grab on to his taller mate as he saw the world upside down for a brief moment. “That means I am ready to own a piece of arse, my principles tell me I must keep my partner in bed after ten in the night and I think you are sexy and therefore totally fuckable! Now off we go Mr. Consulting Criminal, I seem to have a big boner down there and dear Jim can you please fix it for me?” 

“Careful,” Jim said as he was stripped in record time, “Daenerys has dragons.” 

“Don’t worry,” Sherlock winked as he climbed on top of him, “I am used to ‘hot stuff’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep getting Cersei or a cross between Cersei and Arya Stark whenever I take those quizzes!


	19. Day 19 - I am exhausted and it's your fault (prompt - Sleepy cuddles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth rotting sweetness and fluff....you have been warned

“I’m exhausted.” 

Sherlock gave Jim a meaningful look. He knew what was coming up next and it came, soon enough. “All your fault for keeping me on my toes,” his boyfriend grumbled as he tossed away the newspaper and also managed to upset the teacup. Fortunately, Jim had finished both the tea and the water that Sherlock had offered the moment he had stepped into the detective’s flat so nothing spilled out on the table. 

“I fail to see how I should be shouldering the blame for your current state when you are known to be a workaholic who forgets to eat and sleep properly all the time,” Sherlock said gently but firmly, “I appreciate the cases you give me, God knows it keeps me sane at times when all I get from others are silly little things about missing luggage and a neighbour spying on them with a binocular. But when a case comes to me, I will chase the criminal and that will add to your work. We both known that, so when you have your hands full you shouldn’t engage me in any way no?” 

Jim looked offended. 

“All right,” Sherlock said, “I can see the answer written on your face. It’s all my fault.” 

He knew no amount of arguing would help because Jim was a fantastic nag and manipulator. He had once nagged and manipulated Sherlock into wearing a bunny costume with fluffy tail and ears, he had made the detective run down to a candy store in the middle of the night because he had cravings, he had even gotten Sherlock to give up one of the eyes he was experimenting on because Jim needed it more urgently. Jim Moriarty had him wrapped around his little finger just as he had Jim wrapped around his neck. 

“I need to sleep,” Jim huffed. 

“You know bedroom is that way,” Sherlock offered, “Nobody will disturb you, not even John and I promise not to play the violin.” 

“No.” 

“Okay, what will it take?” 

“Undress me.” 

Sherlock licked his lips but Jim deflated him by saying, “No sex, just undress me and put me to bed.” 

“Jim you are not a child.” 

“I am as tired as a child who’s been up till 3 am.” 

“Godddd…..” 

“Sherrrlooooockkk!” 

With a sigh Sherlock took Jim’s elbow and led him to the bedroom where he knelt down and took off the man’s shiny Oxfords. He noted how expensive they were and planned to hide them, just to see if Jim even missed one of his two hundred pairs of shoes. But that would have to wait for later, right now he had a snuffling, snarling lover who was fully intent on getting pampered by him. The socks came off next and Sherlock was about to toss them aside when Jim cleared his throat. Quickly they were folded and kept neatly on a chair. Then the detective stood up and removed Jim’s tie and jacket, draping the items over the back of the same chair. 

Jim yawned and his head flopped to one side. His body appeared to be going slack. 

“I have no idea if I am dating you or adopted you,” Sherlock grumbled as he unbuttoned the pristine silk shirt and hung it up in his closet before proceeding to remove the belt and trousers. The sight of Jim in only his black boxers was mouth-watering to say the least and Sherlock had to summon all his mental powers to restrain himself while his body kept screaming at him to just throw the smaller man on the mattress and fuck his brains out. 

“Um…you can take these off,” Sherlock looked away. 

“I said undress me,” Jim demanded. 

With a sigh Sherlock did so, a bit taken aback that his usually horny lover was not even aroused. It sobered him up. Jim was really tired. 

Gently he helped him lie down on the bed and pulled the covers over him before shutting all the drapes and plunging the room into as much darkness as possible at three in the afternoon. He was about to step out of the bedroom when a slender little hand crept out from the covers and reached out for him. Sherlock took it and looked at the man in his bed, cute as a button with only the tufts of his hairs sticking out from the covers that he had pulled right up to his nose. 

“Stay till I fall asleep?” 

Sherlock exhaled and looked down at himself. He was only in his pajamas and robe. Easypeasy, he could just take off the robe and cuddle in for a while. That wouldn’t hurt. Correction, his cock was hurting but he knew sex was out of the question for now. 

Obediently he slipped in beside his Jim and wrapped his arms around him, holding his man close as Jim mumbled sleepily and closed his eyes. Sherlock mentally counted One-Two-Three-Four-Five…..

Jim’s gentle snoring began. 

Sherlock rested his chin atop the crown of dark hairs and breathed in Jim’s scent. It didn’t feel too bad lying down like this. But he was trapped now with Jim’s weight on top of him. Maybe if he could just lie there a little longer till Jim was sound asleep then he’d slip out quietly without waking the man up….

Sherlock yawned wide. 

***

John found them both like that several hours later, fast asleep and wrapped around each other. It was seven in the evening and the room was now pitch dark and quiet save for their combined breathing sounds. The doctor shook his head and walked out, softly closing the door behind him. He nearly ran into Mrs Hudson who had hurried into the flat for some reason, looking worried. “Hello Mrs Hudson,” he said cheerfully but quietly, “Is there a problem? You don’t seem your usual relaxed self.” 

“Mycroft called me, saying he is in Zurich for a convention and can’t reach Sherlock for hours. No response to his calls. He wanted me to check if he is here and if he’s all right, if he has company or not.” 

John smirked and looked in the direction of the bedroom, “Tell him his brother is fine, just fine, and exactly where he should be!”


	20. Day 20 - You're a Genius (Prompt - Reconnecting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock broke up and moved on, never to see each other again
> 
> Or would they

James Moriarty smiled at the man across the table. “I…ehm….this is a bit embarrassing Griffin,” he admitted, “I have never been on a blind date before.” 

The other man was tall and had curly hairs, blue eyes and pale skin. He looked very attractive in his dark overcoat and striped scarf that was elegantly wrapped around his long neck. James tried to look away, the memories surfacing again and causing a lump the size of a fist to choke his throat. 

“It’s all right James, I do understand,” Griffin Taylor replied, fiddling with his glass of whiskey, “It’s not something even I am used to. But Irene insisted that I meet you and here I am. See, we are both forty and single and I guess that means our friends are concerned that we’d never be able to find someone for ourselves. I know it’s a silly thought to harbour because I can see how gorgeous you are and how well you have done for yourself, you could have anyone you wish. But then, as I said, here I am and just as unprepared for this blind date as you are.” 

Jim nodded and sipped his wine. 

“So,” Griffin said, “Tell me truly, be frank with me, have you been in love before?” 

Jim cleared his throat and swallowed hard, “It’s no longer important.” 

“Oh but it is,” Griffin replied, “If we are to get together, we need to know everything about each other. From Irene I got to know that you were once a…um…” 

“Criminal mastermind.” 

“Yeah but you are a scientist and author now, respected and legitimate. I don’t care about that past. You gave that up five years ago. However, matters of the heart keep lingering on and they can’t be easily forgotten.” 

“All right. I will tell you.” 

“I promise not to judge.” 

“His name was Sherlock.” 

Griffin looked curiously at him, “That’s an unusual name.” 

Jim gave him a sad smile, “He was not so much unusual as he was unique. He was my nemesis, the consulting detective to my consulting criminal, but boy oh boy was he intelligent and sorted out, very brave and sometimes brash, in every possible way he was a match for me. Between chasing each other and running circles around each other, we somehow managed to get quite close. I would sneak into his flat, avoiding the surveillance his elder brother posted outside, while he would escape the same surveillance and come over to my place for the weekends.” 

“Sounds like fun. What did you guys do usually?” 

Jim startled at first but realized Griffin didn’t mean their intimacy but more about what they liked to do together. “Lots of things if I think about it now,” he said in a dreamy voice, eyes faraway as he slipped into a zone which he had forbidden himself from even looking at, at least for the past five years. “We did everything that involved brain stimulation, from crosswords to chess, science experiments to mathematical formulas, astrophysics to complex economics theories. But we also did light-hearted and creative stuff like composing music, he on his violin and me on the piano, we painted together and ended up looking like colour palettes ourselves, we shared the same interest in books and machines, chemistry lab experiments and human anatomy, once we even stole a body from Barts to do an autopsy of our own.” 

“Really?” Griffin seemed to be taking in the information very well. Not spooked or startled at all. 

“Oh yes,” Jim had a goofy grin on his face, “We spent nights lying on our backs and observing the skies, wrestled in the mud while it was raining cats and dogs and watched pirate movies together….it was fun.” 

“It sure sounds that way.” 

“Yeah, it sure was.” 

Griffin reached out and gently covered Jim’s hand with his own. The shorter man looked up as he felt the contact, shaking off the haze of memories and looked at their joined hands, as if he had only just remembered that he was not with Sherlock but with someone named Griffin. He abruptly pulled his hand back and squirmed in his seat, unable to hold his new friend’s gaze any longer. 

“You still love him.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Looks like the two of you were made for each other. Two halves creating a perfect whole. Why did you part?” 

“Paths clashed and separated. I had issues then, which required treatment, he was grappling with his own issues and needed space. Then we sort of just drifted apart. His brother gave me a choice, let go of Sherlock and England and we let go of you and let you start afresh.” 

“And you let him go?” Griffin looked surprised. 

“Yeah,” Jim felt terrible. He wished he could just leave. Earlier Jim would shoot this man for being so inquisitive but the current Jim was calmer, older, more balanced. Besides, Griffin had the right to ask questions. 

“Did you ever find out how he is doing after you left?”

Jim shook his head. He was about to say ‘Excuse me, I need to go now, I can’t do this, I still love him and his ghost will be between us’ when Griffin stunned him with his next words. “Jim, that poor man has been through hell and back. While he was taking down your web, he was a lonely traveller who got smacked, thumped and shot at, but had no one to even offer him a bandage. When he went back, his best friend was married and he was left alone, in his flat. His insanely brilliant but incarcerated sister attacked him, using whatever methods you had discussed with her in the past. He was lonely, deprived and depressed, constantly disguising his sorrow by working hard and pretending to be busy while in private he was constantly into drugs.” 

“Stop it,” Jim had tears in his eyes. 

“I should know, I was his doctor.” 

“What?” Jim jumped up from his chair, “Where is he? I never tried to find out his coordinates. Is he still at 221B….” 

“He doesn’t need me anymore. He doesn’t need anyone anymore.” 

Tears dripped down the former criminal’s cheeks as he sat down heavily on his chair again. God, oh God, Sherlock was dead. Some stupid criminal must have done it or some bloody vengeance plot, maybe Eurus, or perhaps it was the drugs. 

“Except you….” 

That voice!

Jim looked up and GASPED!

Sherlock was standing right behind Griffin’s chair, holding the edge of the backrest and smiling at him. “You cruel little thing,” the baritone he had so missed now poured down his ears like sweet sugar, “I had no idea where you were but you knew where to find me. Couldn’t you have at least sent me one text, made one phone call, sent one email or a letter perhaps? Couldn’t you?” 

The next moment Sherlock had an armful of Jim who was laughing and crying at the same time. Even the normally emotionless detective was glassy eyed, his tears were unshed but they were right there at the edge of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry Sherlock…” 

“No, I am. I should have never let you go.” 

“Are you….you all right?” 

“Now I am,” Sherlock admitted as he sat down and made Jim sit down next to him, “Listen, I don’t do well with emotions so please wipe those tears. Else I might just get all awkward.” He watched as Jim sniffled and blew his nose into some tissue and added, “I had a bad time, depression, hallucinations, addiction, but all those things are behind me now. Got myself treated the moment I found out where you are. Had to stage a small drama, involve Irene, so I could figure out if the man I loved so much still has feelings for me or not!” 

Jim looked at Griffin, “He is…” 

“I am a doctor, specializing in addictions and rehab,” Griffin said, “I am a redhead though. On Sherlock’s advice I wore this wig and made myself look like him, sort of….to stir things up a little bit.”

“Thank you,” Jim said quietly, “I owe you one.” 

“Enjoy,” Griffin saluted them and left. 

“So,” Sherlock held Jim’s hands in his own, “Now that we have reconnected, where do we go from here?” 

Jim felt light as a feather and happy as a lark, “Dublin first, then Dubai maybe. I like Dubai and I am sure so would you.” 

Sherlock suggestively licked his lips, “Yes, yes, we would do all those things too. But for now, I was thinking maybe we should head to your place and visit the bedroom first?”

Jim grinned broadly, “Sherly, you are a genius!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this while listening to 'Let Her Go'


	21. Day 21 - Twisted (Prompt - Amnesia/Forgetting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim remembers nothing after the rooftop incident. Sherlock swoops down to take advantage of the situation.

Sherlock sat outside the hospital recovery room, waiting for a word from the doctors. The man on the other side of the door was out of danger and stable but had taken a blow to the brain that could damage his sharp intellect forever. Sherlock had no idea if keeping him alive was the bigger punishment than giving him euthanasia. 

James Moriarty, damaged in the brain, a pale shadow of his former self. Sounded ghastly to his ears. 

“It is a miracle that he is alive,” Mycroft said softly as he walked up to Sherlock, standing a couple of feet away from his brother as he stared at the closed door ahead, “It was a soft point bullet but at close range it could have still been fatal. Luckily for him he had aimed it wrong, so it hit the top of the brain and not the back of it. There is injury in the mouth but that’s not going to be a problem in the long run. In a week he will be just fine. It’s the injury he caused indirectly to the brain, the part where the memory and stimuli lie, is what could eventually be a cause of concern.” 

“I don’t want him to live like a vegetable Mycroft,” Sherlock said sombrely. 

“If you want to be the one to administer the lethal injection to him, by all means go ahead,” came the chilling reply. 

“Myc, he was unwell, he was disturbed….” 

“He killed people, he destroyed things and challenged governments. If every disturbed person with impulse control problems was pardoned we would have outlaws swarming the streets.” 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock stood up, eyes blazing, “I have never asked you for anything. Can I ask you for something now?” 

“I have always given you my help,” Mycroft began, “Whenever you needed….” 

“You gave me what suited you, what made you happy, what YOU thought was right for me. Did I ever ask?” 

“No, I admit you didn’t. Not for yourself ever.” 

“I want him.” 

“Moriarty?” 

“You know that I….” 

Mycroft gave him an unreadable look, “I knew for a long time. He visiting your flat, you sneaking off to his, but did the honeymoon last? You thought you would be able to cure his madness with your great love and intellectual collaboration, instead you turned him into a megalomaniac who was obsessed with your downfall. He was ready to die in order to bring you down. Had his sniper not put those soft polymer rounds in his gun he would have been a dead man by now. And you still think you want him, you should have him, that you can reform and redeem him?” 

Sherlock’s jaw hardened. He threw his brother an arrow straight glare and spoke through gritted teeth, “Yes.” 

***

Jim sat on his bed, confused and helpless and lost. He had woken up after a four-day coma about ten days ago. The doctors and nurses had told him that he had an accident and that was the reason he couldn’t remember a thing about his past. He had also got a mouth wound that hurt, that had left him one grinder tooth short. But those were healed and no longer caused any pain. What pained him was that the one man who seemed to be his family, whom the nurses described as a handsome, tall, willowy, curly haired man with sparkling blue-green eyes, had not cared to visit him since he had woken. On the other hand the same man had apparently maintained a vigil by his bedside for all four days and nights when he was in coma. 

“He will be back,” said a kindly nurse as she helped him dress, “Today you are being discharged. Time to go home.” 

“Home,” Jim repeated, not sure of what to think about that. He had no memory of any place called home. Not even a vague one. He couldn’t remember who this man was, the one who watched over him like a hawk and abandoned him when he was better. For him this hospital could be his home for all he cared and he wouldn’t be any wiser than that. But at the deepest corners of his heart, he still harboured some hope that he had someone in this world, someone who would take him back to where he should be. Maybe give him a home all over again. 

“Look at the clothes he brought for you,” she spoke encouragingly, “Those are definitely expensive. You look very beautiful my dear boy.” 

Jim looked down at his body. Designer jeans, a pricey button down shirt, brand new leather belt with a buckle that resembled a magpie bird, bespoke leather shoes, he could easily be taken for a man from a wealthy, sophisticated household. 

Maybe he WAS from a sophisticated upper class household!

“Are you going to tell me my name?” He asked finally. 

She remembered her orders and said, “Sorry, I cannot. But you will know soon. Now eat your breakfast sir. Nothing seems better on an empty stomach. Trust this sixty-year-old woman on that one.” 

Jim sighed and stabled at a piece of fruit with the plastic fork. 

***

Sherlock stepped out of the doctor’s room, brows knotted together, hands in his pockets. The words of the doctor resonated loudly in his head. 

“He has no memory of anything from his past. In the past few days, while we searched for and assessed all possible internal damages and found none that’s debilitating or with long term side effects, I still have to say that he is now a compromised man. He won’t be the same as he was, probably he will never be the same man again. He might recollect and be able to replicate certain skills he possessed, like cooking, playing a guitar, sketching or riding a bike, but you can’t expect him to remember recipes, compose music, pick up a pencil again or not fall off that bike. A bit of a china doll if you ask me, fragile. It’s like a rebirth. He will begin his life the way you show him to.” 

Sherlock had forced himself, much to his own agony, not to visit Jim in the past few days. He was busy making plans, looking for loopholes to play to and people to influence, so he could have that one thing he wished for. Mycroft had finally relented, his parents had understood his point of view and he was sure someday John would accept things as well. The detective, who had faked his own death two weeks ago, had gathered all that was necessary to keep Jim next to him. Paperwork, manipulated photos, false documents. Now he stood at an important threshold, one where he decided which direction his life should take. Other people be damned, it was HE who had to be responsible for whatever was coming up next. 

He entered the room. 

Jim looked up. He was in the new clothes Sherlock had chosen for him. He looked cute and hot. He always did, even when he was a raving maniac. 

“Are you my….my….family?” 

Gosh, that voice was so not the one he was used to! But this was still Jim. 

Sherlock nodded. He saw Jim looking at him appraisingly and felt flushed and warm. He knew he was too proud to admit this but he loved it when Jim thought the more of him. 

“Are you my….I can’t remember….please help me!” Jim lamented, standing up and taking a step in his direction. 

Mind made up, a small smile curling around the corner of his lips, Sherlock closed the rest of the distance and took the smaller man in his arms. After an initial moment of surprise Jim melted into that embrace. “Tell me who I am, who are you, where do we go from here?” 

“Yes of course,” the baritone softened, “Your name is Jim Holmes and I am Sherlock Holmes, your husband. We had planned to do some traveling earlier but your accident delayed it. By the end of this day we shall fly out together, to Tibet, via Dubai.”

Jim blinked, “Where is our home?” 

“Home will be the world,” Sherlock assured, “For the next two years. After that? Maybe London or Dublin or Switzerland. I can explain more on the flight, which will be pretty long. Ready for an adventure?” 

“I married you,” Jim said, his body language showing complete trust and faith on his ‘spouse’, “I am ready when you are.” 

Sherlock wrapped an arm around the brunette and led him out of the room. Moriarty was dead. But Sherlock had his Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneaky conniving Sherlock alert! But all's fair in love and war!


	22. Day 22 - Reserved for Gregory Lestrade (Prompt - Snowman)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three geniuses trapped in a snowstorm. Hijinks ensue!

“I am bored.” 

“So am I.” 

Mycroft felt like killing the two men. Grown up babies, thirty-four years each, and whining like five year olds. He looked at them, sitting side by side on the couch, matching restless expressions on their faces as they alternated between staring at each other, at Mycroft and then at the thick flakes of snow that hit the window panes with soft frisky sounds. “If you two talk about boredom again I will ask my men to put you in that institution, right next to Eurus. And then we all know what will happen. Sherlock and Eurus will fight over Jim and probably kill Jim to prevent the other from getting him.” 

“You are obtuse, brother,” Sherlock frowned. 

“Oh is it now? I thought grown men complaining about a bit of snow is obtuse.” 

“We are not complaining of snow. We are complaining of boredom. We came here chasing after a criminal, on your request, and now the snowstorm has us stuck here for three days. No TV, no internet, what the fuck!” 

“Language Sherlock.” 

It was Jim’s turn to crib, “All we are eating is potatoes, bread and meat. There is no wine, no veggies, no fruits.” 

“Jim, it will clear up in two days. Now stop being such a baby.” 

“There is nothing wrong with being a baby. Child is the father of man.” 

Mycroft had a hellish idea crop up in his head. He felt terrible about plotting to send the men out in the snow but he would be glad to do that as long as he got a moment of peace and privacy. “In that case go and build a snowman. They say kids build the best ones. Let’s see if two bored geniuses can create something spectacular with plain white thick snow.” 

Jim seemed unexcited about the idea but Sherlock jumped up. “Yeah, let’s go. Jim, coming?” 

Jim reluctantly nodded, “Okay, if you insist.” 

Soon the two of them were shivering in the biting cold outside as they tried to build a snowman. “Do you realize your brother just took the mickey out of us in a weird, twisted way?” Jim grumbled, scooping up snow and pouting. 

“Do you know mum and dad will pass by this way day after, the day the forecasts suggest the snowstorm will stop and the roads will be cleared?” 

“Yeah, what about that?” 

Sherlock grinned wickedly, “Then come on champion, let’s build my dear ‘Prim n propah’ brother a nice snowman that he’d be proud to show off to mum and dad.” 

***

Mycroft was immensely glad that the snowstorm had stopped and the roads were being cleared on war footing. While he had been the paragon of all virtues and pretended to be patient through it all, he was bored beyond tolerable limits by the five days of inaction and being cut off from the rest of the world. On top of that the two adult brats had made his life miserable by nagging and whining all day and then shagging so loudly at night Mycroft felt his ears nearly bleed. Thank God, they had been quiet for a few hours over the last couple of evenings, apparently building some shit of a snowman.

He heard the sound of a car pulling up outside their rented cottage and quickly went to greet his parents. Mr and Mrs Holmes had been similarly trapped by the snowstorm, forcing them to be cooped up at a friend’s place they’d been visiting. They had offered to pick their sons and son-in-law up on the way since Mycroft’s sedan didn’t have the four-wheel drive necessary for the slushy, slippery roads. 

As he opened the front door his jaw dropped at the sight that greeted him. His mother and father were standing there, red faced and grim, staring at the huge snow erection, complete with two proportionate balls supporting it. At first glance it seemed comical but in the current situation, with their sixty plus parents staring at it in horror, it was perhaps tragic. Mycroft’s usual cool façade dropped and he looked like an unhealthy shade of tomato, the sort of tomato that had been left in the sun a bit too long and then in some damp place. 

“It…it must be the neighbourhood kids,” Mycroft said weakly. 

“You have no neighbours here,” his father pointed at the wilderness around them. 

“Um….Sherlock and Jim….” 

“If it’s Sherlock and Jim, then why does this have….go ahead, read it yourself,” his mother reprimanded. 

The two parents walked off in a huff, walking into the cottage as they muttered something between themselves. Neither Jim nor Sherlock were anywhere to be seen. 

Mycroft stepped forward, awkward and hesitant and almost gave out an unmanly cry when he spotted the small stones arranged under the arch of the ‘snow bollocks’, to form the most crass and obscene message. 

‘Reserved for Gregory Lestrade’. 

“You two are so dead,” the most powerful man of England murmured with a sinister smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this universe it's Sheriarty explicit and Mystrade implicit


	23. Day 23 - I Still Wait (Prompt - Breakup)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's POV as Sherlock arrives suddenly to announce they must part ways

I remember reading somewhere, the following lines. 

“I said ‘Life you can’t defeat me’. Instantly life responded with ‘Challenge accepted’.”

Sometimes, when you are young and successful, when luck seems to smile on you and things mysteriously fall into place, even rotting leaves and flowers in a drought ravaged patch of earth look like the garden of paradise. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing could ever go wrong. You smile in the face of adversity, grin at your enemies and show the finger, turn your face up to the sun and dare it to burn you down. Miraculously you survive the worst of situations, boosting your confidence and giving you a picture of life that’s at once rosy and misleading. 

Because life has a strange way of accepting your challenges and showing you quite the opposite of what you’re used to. It’s all sunshine and glory, right up to the point when it is not. 

I will never forget that stormy evening in October. I was in Manchester, in one of my many flats, closing some business deals. A series of conference calls later, my head felt heavy and my throat was parched. I had just downed some water and was about to ask Sebastian for coffee when he entered the room, a Styrofoam cup of Starbucks coffee in his hands. 

“Sherlock,” I exclaimed, “You here?” 

He looked pale and dull. Maybe too many cases, too few nights of sleep. I had left him in London for way too long, nearly three weeks. I began to regret that. “We need to talk.” 

His baritone soothed me even though the words were a bit alarming. Sherlock never said things like that. 

“Yeah so talk,” I said, sipping the coffee and letting out a huge sigh of relief. It felt good. Before I knew it he had pushed two cookies into my hand. I bit into one and it tasted delicious. I realized I was hungry too. 

“This has to end,” he said as he flopped down on a chair by the window. 

“What? My trips outside London? But I thought we had an agreement that we would allow each other the freedom to do our work. I am a legitimate businessman now, I have my work to do.” 

“Not that….I mean us….the two of us….I want to call time out on it.” 

“Sherlock, this joke is not appreciated.” 

“In case Mycroft ever bothers you, I have a black book on him. As I have on every other government official who could bother you. Do a trade-off with them. It will keep you safe.”

At this I couldn’t hold back the sarcasm in my voice. “So is this a new way to torture me eh? After seven years together, after so much we have gone through, you want to take the decision that we should call it quits. That’s cowardly and cheap, it’s not worthy of you Sherlock. As for this little parting gift of yours, I don’t care and I don’t need it. I can manage my own safety and my life, thank you.” 

He didn’t even seem to listen. Just put a key on the table next to where he was sitting. “Locker number 217, Bank of London. You have been named as a co-owner a year ago.” 

“Do you not hear me?” I got up and started to pace around the room, “This has to be a joint decision. You can’t….you just can’t walk in one me like this and ask me to forget you. That’s just….not done.” I couldn’t keep the anger up any longer, I was beginning to break. He did seem serious and I was, for the first time in many years, scared of being alone. Of course I had Sebastian, I had my work, but Sherlock was special. I loved him. The only man I ever loved enough to give up my criminal work for. “You don’t really mean what you said do you?” I asked, brokenly this time. 

“All good things come to an end,” he replied, “I am doing this for you Jim.” 

“Oh of course,” I marched over to him, “For me? Isn’t that what all of them say when it’s they who are deciding on doing the dumping?” 

I reached out to touch him and he recoiled, as if I was a scorpion. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But I was still not willing to give up. “Is there someone forcing you to do this? Is there a problem? Sherly, we were supposed to handle everything together.” 

“Not everything, I’d prefer to retain something for myself, just for me,” Sherlock said coldly and looked away, his body language detached and frozen over with his lack of empathy. I can’t blame him, I thought bitterly, not when I lack empathy too. We have a streak of the sociopath in us, sometimes we hoodwink ourselves with our lies. But somehow, I knew this man, the man I had spent so many nights snuggling up to, was not lying tonight. There was an element of finality in his statement that caused my feet to turn to wood. 

“Well fuck you,” I yelled and stomped over to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Falling on the bed, fully dressed, I began to mourn the loss of a relationship that I had stupidly expected to continue for a lifetime. 

I wanted to cry but the stupid sobs remained buried inside. It hurt my throat, my head and my chest till I fell into a troubled snooze. 

***

“Boss? Boss???” 

I opened my eyes and instantly the sight of Sebastian’s face hammered me into wakefulness. Why was he crying? My tiger didn’t cry even on the day his mother died. 

“It’s Sherlock,” he said, trying to compose himself, “You must have received the text too….” 

“What the hell?” I assumed the stupid detective had gone into a drug den again, “What did he do again?” 

Sebastian gently pulled me to my feet and said, “Get into your shoes. I have already called for a chopper. We will be there in just a few hours okay? Now stay in my sight and don’t do anything stupid please.” 

“You moron,” I snapped, “Just tell me what he’s done and why should we need a chopper when he is just outside….” 

“Jim,” Sebastian hugged me and I vaguely registered the fact that he hardly does that, “Boss….O God why do I have to be the one to tell you….Sherlock took a fatal shot during a drug bust in London. An hour and half ago the doctors pronounced him dead.” 

I shoved him away savagely, “No, it can’t be. An hour ago he was here, with me, he brought me coffee….” 

I ran into the next room, Sebastian on my heels and trying to grab my arm, “Sherlock, Sherlock, why the fuck would you fake your death again?” 

The empty chair gave him the first jitters. But then I saw the key and the coffee, still half-finished, and my belief returned. “He faked it,” I realized I was laughing like a hyena, a very bloodcurdling laughter, “He was here. He spoke to me. He said he wanted to break up….” 

That’s where I realized why he was there. 

“Boss impossible,” Sebastian’s voice was growing distant, “I was in the living room all through. Nobody has walked in through the door in the past five hours. I would have known. I was there……”

Blackness engulfed me afterwards. 

***

I kept staring at his lifeless body. Funny how soon a human being becomes a ‘body’. The bullet pierced his lung and part of his heart. The ugly meat hole stared at me till I grew sick and began to throw up. 

I had seen many gory scenes, God knows I had caused many of them myself, but I wasn’t prepared for this. 

Mycroft stood next to me, silent as a stone, expressionless as ever, but I saw how his hands were shaking. We had never been fond of each other, never! Sherlock was the glue that bound us together and now that glue was gone. He could do anything he wanted, as could I, but in that hour of grief and a loss that we both shared, it felt comforting to be around each other. If there could be any comfort at all. 

“I always thought I’ll be gone before him,” I whispered shakily as he offered me some tissues, “I was the one who was supposed to go.” 

Mycroft didn’t answer. “He came to see me,” I continued, “He came to see me right after he had passed. He kept telling me he wanted to break up with me, that he preferred to keep something solely for himself. I had no idea he meant this….that he wanted to die alone, that we all eventually die alone. If….If I had known what it was, I wouldn’t have fought with him. My last memory of him wouldn’t have been an argument.” 

“Jim, get a hold over yourself. Do you realize this is the grief talking?” 

“What? You don’t believe me?” 

“Moran told me. That key, the coffee, you had brought them yourself…..” 

“I never went to Starbucks….” 

“Jim enough. He was my little brother. Don’t make this harder on me, and on yourself.” 

“Wake up you selfish eejit,” I screamed at a man who could no longer hear me, “Wake up and tell them you were there, that you’re still here.” 

***

Sherlock never woke up. Of course, he didn’t. 

I never used the black book. Never had to. Mycroft actually became softer towards me after he lost his brother.

Sebastian still thinks I am delusional and doesn’t believe Sherlock had come to see me one last time. Faithful fellow, he is still with me, sharing whichever house I choose to live in.

John thinks kindly of me now, he understands how it feels to lose someone you love. Strangely enough, he is the only one who believes me. 

They call me Jim the madman again now. All because I have kept Sherlock’s things just the way they were till he was alive. His cologne, his hair gel, his shaving kit, his coat, clothes, shoes, violin, books. Nothing has been moved, nothing. How can I move them? What if he comes back and gets upset to see his stuff missing. 

I still wait for him to walk in through the door with coffee and my favourite cookies, wisecracking and calling me ‘Jimmykins’, many years after he left me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly and deeply sorry about the sadness in this ficlet


	24. Day 24 - The Matchmaker (Prompt: How they got together)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young jobbing reporter meets Sherlock Holmes, world famous detective, at his Florida residence and learns an interesting fact
> 
> A bit fluffy, to compensate for the previous chapter that made some of you sad

I had always wanted to interview Sherlock Holmes, the great detective and arguably one of the most brilliant minds in the world. At the age of forty he was a legend, known far and wide due to the cases he had solved and the new discipline he had introduced to the world. 

The science of deduction. He had even written a series of books on it, titled ‘When science becomes an art’. Thanks to him, this was now a line of studies in several universities and Sherlock, as the inventor and expert, travelled widely to deliver lectures at the Stanfords, Harvards, Oxfords and Cambridges of the world. 

Therefore, it was my great joy and pride when the big man granted me an interview on a lazy Sunday morning at his residence in Florida, where he maintained what he called his ‘American base’. When I arrived there, where he lives with his partner, I was surprised to see how plush and opulent the villa was. Easily occupying three times the size of their neighbours (who were at least half a mile away either side), it was an architect designed property on a sunny, secluded beach, with woods behind and the vast blue of the ocean on all other sides. Six late model cars stood under the auto door garage which had a bullet-proof glass window on it. 

“Oh the property and cars belong to my partner, he is the rich one in the relationship,” Sherlock says dismissively as he greets me at the porch, tall and handsome but in an unconventional way. He had razor sharp cheekbones, cupid bow lips and a pair of sea-blue eyes. Or were they green? A headful of curls worn in a casually unruly fashion made him look younger and cool. 

Too bad he is not into women. Not that he would like poor, short, chubby me!

“I want to know some of your cases, first-hand accounts which even Dr Watson wasn’t involved in,” I request him as we sit in the spacious living room whose sliding doors and French windows give us panoramic views of the surroundings, “And if possible, if you are willing to share, a story of your life. Maybe that one part of your life which is the most significant for you.” 

“Here we do a trade-off,” he says as he steeples his fingers beneath his chin, his signature pose (and I love it), “I talk about some unknown cases and then give you a snapshot into that one aspect of my life that not many other than my closest friends know of.” 

“What’s the catch?” I ask. At that point I could say yes if he asked me to clean his shoes with my toothbrush and use it again tonight. 

“The personal part,” he says, “You will publish it word by word, as I say it, record it if you will but no misquoting or exaggerations.” 

Okay that was easy! “Deal,” I give him my word. 

He starts with the cases while his housekeeper serves us coffee, cookies and sandwiches. Sherlock has tea, two cups of it, as he keeps looking at his crotch and smiling. I find that weird till I realize he isn’t smiling at his crotch but at the phone on his lap. Someone is texting him constantly, he is texting back occasionally, and he seems happier and chirpier with every response he receives. I don’t mind the intrusive parallel activity going on because Sherlock is clearly a multi-tasker, he keeps giving me an impeccable account of three different mysteries, two British and one international case, even though his eyes fleet to his crotch….phone kept on his lap, every few seconds. 

Then he talks about the personal event and that’s where I start catching flies with my dropped jaw and bewildered expression. Dude, this kind of love story, it’s so awesome! I wonder how much luck do you have to stock up on to be part of one? Reproducing verbatim below!

***

Jim Moriarty was my nemesis initially but over a period of time it all changed for us. I started climbing the ladder which took me to the lofty heights he had perched on while he started descending the same ladder to match my levels of normalcy. It was an invigorating experience. Two of us, two peas in a pod, very similar, equals in every way, we weren’t meant to spar with each other, we weren’t meant to be at war with each other! On the other hand, we were meant to be together, on the same side of the fence, to be friends and soul mates, comrades and companions. 

The closer I got to him, the more human he seemed. The same emotions of fear and apprehensions, the same needs any mere mortal would have, the same dreams and desires as any attractive young man of thirty.

He was very good looking. With deep dark eyes that shone with the sparkle of his brilliant mind, a waifish body which had not even an ounce of extra flesh, raven dark hairs which contrasted perfectly with his milky white skin, that gorgeous toothy smile, that high pitched sing-song voice, he was everything I had ever dreamt of in a partner. But the problem was that he already had a partner. A dashing and handsome partner. Sebastian Moran, an older former military colonel who had started off as his deputy but slowly become as powerful as Moriarty himself was. 

Therefore, our initial relationship was purely platonic. It started out as hate and love and soon became love and bicker and finally settled into ‘I am there for you’ kind of closeness. He even created cases for me, just to keep our little secret game on. The faster I solved them, the happier he seemed to be. Of course, he was a little mental in the initial days but that vastly improved as we spent more time. 

I think in some ways I grounded him and he taught me to fly. We were good for each other. His megalomaniac ways and crazy ambitions started to turn sane and he himself became a more stable person over the years. 

He stayed back mostly in London so we could catch up almost every day. That meant that Sebastian Moran did most of the traveling. Jim was aware that Seb wasn’t faithful to him during those trips but if it hurt him, he didn’t utter so in any words. Only his eyes looked haunted and dull at times. 

I swear those were moment when I wanted to slap Moran and tell him ‘You have the luck and good fortune to be in his bed, don’t destroy it you idiot’. 

“We should find a man or woman for you,” he suggested one day, out of the blue. Maybe he felt sorry about my loneliness, which I used to exaggerate of course, to force him to meet me every evening. 

I didn’t even protest. Even though we presented a face of animosity and competition to the outer world, in private I had stopped opposing him completely. Strange how I seemed to agree to whatever he said or did. I guess I was falling in love! Suddenly a file containing prospective candidate names, profiles and photographs was tossed on my lap one day. Then a second one landed next to the first one and I blinked, confused. “Don’t be boring Sherlock,” he told me in a dismissive voice, “One has men and the other has women. Go on ahead and take your pick, do some deductions based on what you see, then we calibrate and zero down on the final three who can be interviewed.” 

“Interviewed?” 

“Arranged alliance is the only option for you. You really think you can date?” 

“Um….yes…maybe….I mean I can try.” 

“Last time you were on a date?” 

“Never been to one.” 

“Okay then, bad idea, back to matchmaking and arranged alliances.” 

“Why are you playing matchmaker?” 

“Because I don’t like seeing people lonely. Nobody should be living alone. I know that, don’t I? I had been alone from the time I left home, about seventeen, till Sebby came along, when I was twenty-seven.” 

Once again I cursed Moran. 

We looked through the files and I rejected all but one woman and three men. But Jim tossed this lady’s papers aside saying she looked like an amoeba and her credentials were dubious. The three gents I had shortlisted were dismissed too. According to Jimmy, one seemed to be a liar, one was far too pretentious and the third one had the peculiar nose of a goblin. More files appeared and this time I became more critical, rejecting people for the same reasons Jim had done earlier. 

Months passed and we grew even closer. I began to open up and talk about my childhood. I discussed my sister who was incarcerated since she was a pre-teen, I talked about how Mycroft bullied me, how my parents thought I was slow and unusual because I lacked the brilliance of my siblings. I spoke about John and Lestrade, about Andersen and Donovan, about Anthea and Mrs Hudson. 

What I loved about Jim was that he really listened. 

We shared several common passions and did things together that gave us both the mental stimulation we needed. He liked astronomy so I read up about it. I was a sucker for chemical experiments so he went ahead and cultivated an interest in it. We both loved solving old, unsolved murder cases, Greek mythology, mechanics and quantum physics, mathematical formulas and complex theories, Renaissance art and architecture and the teachings of Confucius. For long evenings and longer nights we talked and talked, till he curled up against me and dozed off or I fell asleep with his head on my lap. 

Sebastian found us like that one morning and punched Jim. Jim shot him on the offending arm after that but even then, that was when the former soldier had crossed the line. While he went about fucking men and women outside, he didn’t want to share Jim even with a friend. That was ridiculous. I intervened, got bruised as their thrown punches landed on me instead, and by the end of it Sebastian left in a huff saying he didn’t want to work for or live with Jim any longer. 

I know Jim was sad. I know he waited. Through his stoic expressions, I could see the sad little boy hiding inside, hoping his Sebby came back. 

But that didn’t happen. Sebastian got out of control and brash and got himself killed in an encounter with the cops. 

For the first time in his thirty-three years, Jim realized he was on the wrong track. 

“I want out,” he said, “I don’t want to end up like Sebby. Had I not had his body stolen from police custody he would have been lying unclaimed in a morgue. Whatever he was, I did love him once. I have lost him now. I have nobody anymore!” 

‘You have me’, I wanted to say. But my stupid tongue refused to cooperate. 

For the next few months he wrapped up his work, stopped communicating with his clients, transferred some of his money elsewhere, created a new identity and then came back to me saying he needed my help to fake his death. 

I was so desperate to be with him, to be in his life, in his bed and in his heart, that I would have crossed over to the dark side and actually taken Sebastian’s place in his web. But Jim was getting out of that web himself, so I held back my horses, got my brother Mycroft on my side, and promised him cooperation. We built up a case where we took our battle public and then staged and faked both our deaths. I jumped off but had a soft, pre-arranged landing, while he shot himself in the mouth with a blank and Molly, my friend, splashed some blood and brain matter around the spot to give the impression of a ruptured skull and brain stem. 

I can never forget that evening, three days later, when he was due to take the private jet to another country, never to return again. Mycroft was with me as I came to see him off, happy that the biggest thorn in his flesh was now retired and had already handed over valuable information on his web to me. It was a professional victory for him, the fulfilment of a personal ambition for Jim and a sense of doom and loss for me. Jim was leaving. He was leaving the city, the country, me…..

Suddenly I blurted out the words I had been saying aloud in my head for weeks now. “How about you and I getting together now Jimmy?” The next moment I heard a grunt and a thump. Mycroft the Iceman had fainted from shock but not before letting out a swine cry.

***

The sounds of the doorbell interrupted the story and Sherlock raced to the front door, beating the housekeeper to it. To me he looked like a young boy whose father was back home with his favourite toy from the store. I heard the words ‘You texted me 1 hour but it’s 1 hour and nine minutes’ and ‘Miami does have traffic doofus’ at the foyer area which wasn’t visible to me from my seat next to the baby grand piano. I didn’t think much about this guest who had suddenly arrived, I was still caught up in the story. I was rooting for Sherlock. I wanted him to win. Did he win? Did Jim say yes? Did they find happiness?

Just then Sherlock walked into the living room again, bringing with him all the answers to my silent questions. 

He was holding the hand of a good-looking man of his own age, with dark eyes and dark hair, immaculately dressed in an expensive suit, rimless glasses perched on his nose which gave him the appearance of a suave young professor. This had to be James Moriarty, one time nemesis, one time friend and no doubt Sherlock’s current partner. “Meet my partner Jim,” he introduced me as I stood up and shook hands with the smaller man, “Special consultant with Nasa, author, businessman. As I told you Jim, she is a reporter from Bloomberg.” 

I had to clap my jaw shut. Happiness was bubbling up inside me, making my cheek split into a broad grin. Sherlock won! The once feared criminal was now a normal spouse, successful businessman, a scientist and a law-abiding citizen. It was clear that the intervening years hadn’t reduced the brilliant charge of their romance as they looked into each other’s eyes, obviously still smitten. 

Suddenly Jim said, “We have a party at my beachside lounge-bar-bistro. Isla Bonita! Come over with your boyfriend or girlfriend. I will give you two passes.” 

“Oh I am single, have always been,” I replied politely. 

Sherlock gasped as Jim’s look turned into one of patronizing concern and deep curiosity. He hurriedly ended the interview and ushered me out, promising me another slot a few days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim here is the typical 'crush' who keeps pretending to be only a buddy till they are forced to admit their feelings


	25. Day 25 - Celebrations (Prompt Johnlockiarty)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M/M/M  
> Threesome  
> Kinks  
> PWP  
> Smut  
> Porn  
> Shameless xxx rated silliness

“Remind me again why I tolerate him,” Jim grumbled as he shot a glare at a grinning Sherlock who was busy quantifying the results of an experiment. 

John smirked, “I live with him. At least you get away from him from time to time.” 

Sherlock didn’t look up from the lens as he shot out his rapid-fire deductions, much to the chagrin of his two mates. “From the way, you are both dressed and the posture in which you are sitting, it’s clear that you intend to go out for a drink. From the way the two of you napped this afternoon, I can clearly see you intend to continue this right into midnight, which means spending at least four hours over there. I see that John has worn his new jeans, much tighter than his usual denims, which tells me he intends to slow-seduce me and also show off to Jim how trim and fit he is despite being the oldest amongst us. Jim on the other hand has purchased a new toy which he intends to use on me, I can see part of the bill sticking out of the pocket of his jacket.” 

“Booooring,” Jim sang. 

“Boring am I now? Then go without me.” 

“Get dressed Sherly, no negotiations.” 

Sherlock threw a desperate look at John, “Can you please….” 

“Sherlock,” John got up, “If you don’t get up and get dressed now, we will have sex right here in front of you, on this rug.” 

“Go on,” Sherlock shrugged. 

“And create a video of us,” Jim added. 

Sherlock looked uncomfortable. 

“Keep our faces out of the camera frame but you in the background,” Jim continued. 

Sherlock got up with a huff, “Fine.” 

As soon as he had walked towards the bedroom Jim jumped on to John’s lap and the older man and he shared a heated kiss. When they pulled back John gave a beaming smile and said, “If I knew how much fun you are Moriarty, I would have kidnapped you years ago.” 

Jim rubbed their noses together, “If I knew what a dirty old daddy you could be, how sexy and devious, I would have put that semtex vest around Mycroft instead. By the way, do you think our boyfriend the great detective knows what we are up to?” 

“I don’t think so,” John winked, “This will be fun.” 

***

Sherlock thought he was walking about in a wet dream. They were at a poolside, not exactly the same spot where they had a showdown years ago but another indoor pool at a private property, but it was a perfect simulation of that poolside incident where Jim had revealed himself as Jim from IT. Right now they were back in a similar situation, but it was far hotter and not at all dangerous, because the guns were loaded with blanks and the semtex vest around John was a fake one. 

Not to mention they were all naked. 

Jim delivered his sing-song, campy speech in the same tone as before, but without his clothes on, and John cowered in mock fear, naked underneath the semtex vest strapped on him, and with the gun between Sherlock’s legs pointing right up at towards the detective’s chin. The detective was so eager to stick it somewhere that he had trouble keeping up the simulation, the hot role play, and fumbled with his words. Jim and John kept up their parts for a long time till Sherlock jumped Jim and grabbed John, tearing the fake jacket off and devouring their mouths in turns, hot moaning noises coming out from his mouth. 

“Someone is….mpphhh….eager,” Jim panted between kisses. 

“Mfffggg…..yeah you bet Jim,” echoed John, grabbing one of Sherlock’s and Jim’s butt cheeks in each hand. 

He squeezed them and the former criminal and consulting detective let out matching groans of pleasure. “You are mine,” John growled in a tone that sounded far more possessive and animal-like than he had ever displayed before. It was hot and dominating, sexy as hell, and Sherlock approved of this new dominus John, as did Jim. 

“We will do him together,” John declared, “Sherlock, Jim deserves his punishment and you deserve your fantasy treat.” 

Jim was turned on by the possibility of pain and pleasure and the thrill of being owned but Sherlock blushed deep. “H-How did you know John?” He asked. 

“Your search history,” the doctor winked at him, “Double penetration, how to open him up wider for it, all that stuff. Also, search pages of how to be one of those doing the penetrating. You know I don’t take it up the tail so it has to be Jim.” 

“You’re getting too good at this,” Sherlock rasped, grabbing the lube Jim had tossed at him. In mere minutes he had Jim nicely open and ready and relaxed and practically begging to be taken. When he was sure Jim wouldn’t get hurt, he placed the criminal on his hands and knees on a padded recliner and placed two stools next to it, cushions on top so their knees wouldn’t get sore and asked John to kneel next to him. 

Pressed hip to hip, they pushed into the twitching hole that was trembling in anticipation. 

Jim screamed out a spontaneous climax as his prostate was brushed by two blunt heads. A plume of cum landed on the recliner as the hole tightened so impossibly around them that John had to dig his nails into his balls to stop himself from coming. This was hot, really hot, the feel of Sherlock’s cock sliding right next to his and Jim’s hole wracked with spasms from his earlier climax giving him an experience he couldn’t describe. It was mind-blowing, to say the least, and he let out a loud shout of pleasure. 

“Fuck meeee,” Jim demanded, always bossy and temperamental, “Come on daddies!” 

“Let’s show him who the daddies are,” John roared in a voice that Sherlock barely recognized. The sound went to his groin instantly and he began to fuck Jim, kept upright by John’s strong arm that had wrapped around his waist. His eyes fluttered shut and endless moans tumbled out of his mouth, hips whipping back and forth, cock appearing and disappearing as he dipped his head and watched the sexy sight of the spot where the three men were joined. John was veritably quiet but the look on his face, a delectable sight of unbridled pleasure and barely remaining self-control, was proof enough of how much he was enjoying this threesome. 

God, he had never thought John could be kinky. This was hot!

“Uhhhh….almost there….just a few more,” Jim pleaded. 

“Daddy, call me daddy,” John smacked Jim’s arse hard, one cheek and then the other and Sherlock had the pleasure of watching those pale globes turn pink. 

“Dadddyyyy!” 

“Touch him Sherlock,” John used his military commander voice. 

“Fuck,” Sherlock threw his head back as arousal peaked inside him, rushing blood down south making him lightheaded and shaky. He somehow managed to dip his hand between Jim’s open legs and grab the hot hard rod that was now leaking profusely at the tip. 

Sherlock brought his hand to his mouth, licked at the moisture, then spit into his palm. Using that spit as lube he started to stroke Jim and in less than thirty seconds the brunette was so overcome he helplessly tumbled over the edge. Coming like a wildly rushing geyser, he spilled fresh cum all over Sherlock’s fingers and some on the now-dried cum he had splattered ten minutes before on the recliner. 

Sherlock was the next to come, shooting deep into the tight arse that was caving in from all sides on his erupting member. He saw stars and felt light as a feather, head floating in the clouds and torso trembling like jelly. 

John’s self-control proved to be legendary. Though dangling on the edge of the precipice, beyond which beckoned a huge hard earth-shattering orgasm, he still managed to savour as many moments as possible as he continued to thrust inside a whimpering Jim, holding Sherlock close and rubbing the small of the detective’s back in a soothing manner. When he finally came, he was the one who managed to get up on wobbly legs and get a towel to clean them all up and bathrobes for them to wrap up in. “You organized everything,” John kissed Jim, “Mastermind genius!” 

“You did the planning,” Jim said gleefully, “Wicked doctor.”

Sherlock sat quietly between them and watched and listened to their exchange with a bemused smile on his lips. But that smile was replaced by a wide-eyed look of pleasant surprise when his boyfriends, the only two men he loved and really cared about, suddenly kissed him at the same time and sang ‘Happy Birthday Sherlylocks Holmes’. He sat up straighter and looked at them, happy at the reveal but also a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t realized what this was about. 

“Midnight,” Jim showed him the watch. 

“You guys did this for my birthday….” Sherlock sounded a bit choked. 

“Now don’t get emotional, it’s weird,” Jim snorted. 

John was a bit kinder, “Hey, let’s allow him to let his hair down a bit. Nobody is judging him here. Go on Sherlock, I think you want to say thank you in some way huh!” 

“Hmmm….okay!” Jim agreed. 

Sherlock hugged them both briefly before he quickly became poker faced again. But deep down he was happy as a child, thrilled as a man in love, ecstatic as a woman who had just held her firstborn. 

He hated birthdays. Boring, mundane, drab. Why do people celebrate because they were born? Was it an accomplishment of some sort? 

But with this particular celebration, his thirty-third birthday celebration, that perception had changed. He understood the special appeal of birthdays and surprise gifts. 

He couldn’t wait to be thirty-four next year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daddy John is kinda hot, realized it while writing this. Bonus points if you like him naked under the semtex vest!


	26. Day 26 - Never go to bed angry (Prompt - Fighting & Making Up)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriarty fight and then go 'what the hell, I still love him'

“What the hell is wrong with you damn it!” James was frowning, hands on his hips, eyes squinted. 

“I cancelled our holiday,” Sherlock looked at him defiantly, “I didn’t rob the bank or steal crown jewels or…..” 

“Enough with the barbed comments or it won’t be pretty,” Jim glowered at him as he spewed out the threat, his perfect pearly whites bared in an angry snarl, “You and I both know we don’t talk about those days anymore so quit trying to distract me from the matter at hand. Our holiday…..Oh God….it was supposed to be next week…..and you tell me now that our holiday to Mauritius is cancelled, and I get to know only when I come back home after three days and ask you if we should start packing.”

Sherlock’s frown deepened, “I have a case…..” 

“Oh yeah? And nobody but you can solve that case huh?” 

“Well, I am the only consulting detective in the world after all….” 

“Stop preening. There’s the police, the useless DI Lestrade, there are private investigators…”

“Now that’s preening? I am preening? I remember a few years ago someone couldn’t wait to jump into bed with me the moment I talked about how I solved the case.” 

“That was years ago, a long time ago. We have been together ten years now and married for six. You still want me to act like a thirty-year-old criminal in love with his arch nemesis?” 

Sherlock looked hurt, “That’s the man I fell in love with, that’s the man I faked my death for, that’s the man I fought the world and even my parents and brother for. Of course, it was a long time ago but does that mean your feelings have changed with time? I am now disposable whenever you have a business commitment and when you want a holiday I need to drop everything and pack?” 

It was Jim’s turn to look pained, “This is the second time you rescheduled and that too without asking me about it. I was away on business but we spoke every day, texted every single day, couldn’t you have at least asked me once?” 

“I re-booked it,” Sherlock said, “For two weeks later.”

“The first time we cancelled we were supposed to be in Mauritius to celebrate our 6th anniversary,” Jim said spitefully, face twisted in utter rage, “Then we scheduled it so I can celebrate my 40th birthday there. Well, two weeks later we can sure go but you will go alone you asshole. It’s neither our anniversary, nor my holiday, so I see no point in getting my arse dragged to the beach without an occasion.” 

Sherlock stood up and glared down at Jim from his full height, knowing fully well Jim felt a bit intimidated by that. He knew whatever he was going to say was about to make things worse but his anger and irritation got the better of him. Here he was, about to reveal a surprise to Jim that he had cooked him dinner and also booked them for a chopper ride over London the next day, just to give Jim the feeling that he was ‘above’ his once ruled criminal domain, and Jim had created a scene over the cancelled holiday and ruined everything. 

“Well fuck you,” he let out through gritted teeth, “It’s impossible to make you happy, no matter what I fucking do. So do whatever you fucking well want because I am not going to change my plans. I am going to go through with this case.” 

At that point, Jim seemed to freeze like a deer in the headlights. During all their ten years together, through all the ups and downs, chasing each other and trying to ruin each other’s plans, then faking their deaths and traveling the world as lovers and friends and finally getting legally together through a civil union, it had always been Jim Moriarty who threw the tantrums while Sherlock Holmes picked up the pieces and coddled his partner back to calmness. But tonight, Sherlock had changed all of that. Instead of backing off and reversing his decision, he had not only stood his ground and stuck to his decision, he had also used the rough and accusatory tone with Jim. 

“Fuck you too you swine,” Jim stuck his middle finger at his husband and stomped over to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

As soon as the sound came, Sherlock deflated and slid down on his chair. 

“Shit,” he exhaled, shaking his head and leaning back. 

Well, things were a little complicated now. They were no longer very young men or carefree masters of their own universe.

While the former criminal was now an established businessman leading a prosperous and growing company that manufactured security devices and tracking devices and was easily worth half a billion in overall revenue, Sherlock was now a world-famous detective who got cases from far and wide. An Indian Maharajah had employed him to find the twenty-five million dollar 208 carat diamond one of his relatives had stolen from him. The Japanese royal family had employed him to track down a blackmailer who eventually happened to be their household chief. A media mogul in Australian had requested his intervention to find out who was hacking into their systems and stealing their breaking news every day. A Chilean politician wanted him to arrest his wife’s lover who had murdered her before fleeing with some top-secret papers. 

It was true their schedules clashed often. Private time together was considerably lesser than before. Jim travelled often and so did he. 

Jim had a point. He had cancelled a holiday that was supposed to be a celebration of an occasion. It was meaningless to do it when such an occasion had already gone past. 

Jim was a wonderful man, a man he loved with all his heart, a man who had actually taught him that he did have a heart. But sometimes he felt like the only one making compromises in the relationship. That had started to make him sour after a point. 

Sherlock looked at the closed door. No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let Jim, or himself, go to bed angry. That was a very bad idea. 

***

Jim lay on the bed, feeling lonely and troubled. He hated fighting with Sherlock but sometimes the detective was so clueless and obtuse that he was forced to put the man in his place. Like when Sherlock forgot they had to meet Jim’s brother for dinner and didn’t show up. Like when he left Jim at his parents’ place and went off to help John who couldn’t find Rosie in the school. Mr and Mrs Holmes were nice people but Jim didn’t want to be alone with the in-laws all day. Sometimes Sherlock allowed John to sleep in his old room at Baker Street when Jim was on a business tour and while Jim trusted Sherlock, he was still not comfortable with John being so close. 

But all said and done, Sherlock was his life. Thanks to him he was alive and lived like a normal person. Thanks to days and nights of Sherlock holding him as he struggled through therapy, recovery and internal demons. Thanks to the detective, his husband, he had no reason to fear for his life and could walk about anywhere without fearing it might be his last day on earth. 

He looked at the closed door of the bedroom. He could hear footsteps and coughing sounds on the other side, down the hallway. Sherlock was awake and as restless as he was. God, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep alone tonight, especially when he had missed Sherlock in his bed for almost five nights due to the business trip. If he fell asleep now, he would wake up to Sherlock bringing him bed-tea the next morning. He would be kissed and cuddled and he would wrap his arms around Sherlock and say he had maybe crossed some lines. Sherlock would apologize too. 

Then they would have a quickie, shower separately, dress and head to work. 

No, he got up with a huge sigh, not that way. He needed to make it up to Sherlock now. 

As he yanked open the door he was greeted by the sight of his husband standing on the other side, hand on the knob and an expression as puzzled as his own was. Clearly they had comic timing! Jim had decided to step out right at the moment Sherlock had decided to step inside the room. 

“Sherly…” 

“Jim….” 

More comic timing, they had even spoken at the exact same second. 

“You first,” Sherlock offered. 

“No you go first,” James said. 

Then, as he realized he was actually making Sherlock apologize first, he resumed speaking but this time his tone was not scornful or angry but gentle and firm. “I think I might have said a bit too much about the holiday thing. It’s all right, you have a case, go on ahead with it. We can holiday later. But it would be good if you talk to me before taking decisions like it because when you don’t, it makes me feel I don’t matter to you. What I feel about things don’t matter to you. We have always celebrated my birthday nicely, you insisted we do ever since I told you how much I hated birthdays, so it was horrible to see how easily you cast aside the holiday that meant so much to me.” 

Sherlock pulled him to his chest and Jim allowed him to. As they stood like that, locked together, the detective kissed the top of his head. 

“I am sorry love. I wasn’t thinking through this right. You see, you have been doing so well for yourself, you have been the one earning most of the money, so it was very important for me to garner my share of glory, cash, a name for myself, so I can be your true equal. Sometimes I feel left behind, as if I am no longer as important to you as I once was. But while stewing in my own juices of discontent, I didn’t realize I was making you feel awful. I haven’t been good with expressing feelings so….” 

“So?” 

Sherlock looked into the huge brown eyes of his lover, “So I say this now, I love you James Moriarty. I am rescheduling the holiday again but not for later. Let’s fly out tomorrow so we can celebrate your birthday and come back in five days. This case, I don’t need to start immediately. I can push my meeting with the client a couple of days, that’s totally possible and feasible.” 

Jim kissed the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, “You mean it?” 

“As much as I meant it when I said my family will have to accept you as a son in law.” 

“Oh Sherly, I love you too.” 

“I know. Now can we eat, I had cooked dinner….” 

“Will you be mad if I say I’m not hungry, that I’m tired and just want to sleep in your arms?” 

Sherlock closed the door with his foot and led Jim to the bed, sitting them both down. A mischievous smile flickered on his face and he said, “As long as you agree to have chicken chowmein and sweet and sour prawns for breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Chowmein and prawns for breakfa……” Jim paused, assessing the situation. Then he smiled brightly, nodded his head and said, “Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys are still reading it, a big thanks. Only 4 more stories to go. Hope you have enjoyed some of them!!!
> 
> Big thanks to fabricdragon, if I were a scriptwriter she would be my dramaturge


	27. Day 28 - The Stranger in the Bar (Prompt - Role Play)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim meets a stranger at a beachside bar. Naughty times ensue. 
> 
> Then a pirate's eyepatch is mentioned

James Moriarty sat in a quiet corner of the crowded bar on the Jimbaran beach at Bali. The dance floor was full, the bar and lounge areas were full, even the outer area which opened out under a yawning and on to the sandy beach was full. It was a Friday evening during the summer tourist season after all and as the bartenders pumped away the drinks fiercely and waitresses shot back and forth like pretty mice, precariously balancing trays and mugs in the most spectacular fashion, Jim sat on a first-floor booth and observed. 

Thanks to his money, power and intimidating presence he had closed off the first-floor seating area which overlooked the dance floor and the bar. Therefore, instead of sharing space with fifty other patrons, he was sitting there alone and sipping his beer in peace. 

Too much peace, he sighed. Sometimes when it became too quiet outside, it grew noisier in his head. Therefore, too much peace was not a good idea at all. His inner demons were beckoning out to him to join them in a wild dance of bloody proportions, of a thousand macabre possibilities. He gripped his beer mug, still half-filled with the best brew this tourist town could offer, hard enough to nearly crush it into pieces. Hardly interested in the brew anymore, his eyes scanned the crowd for someone interesting. Someone he could kill, or fuck, or both. Maybe fuck first and kill later. At least that would make the noises stop. The outflow of semen first and then other bodily fluids like the victim’s blood, yeah that was how the evening should end. 

He looked in the direction of a tall man in the crowd. Yes, it had to be him. 

Jim had a type. Not being a tall man himself, he preferred tall men in his bed and by his side. All his bodyguards and lackeys were tall, as were the lovers he had bedded. It somehow gave him power to see how those tall fellows trembled in his presence. Those were moments when he towered over them despite his medium stature and slight build. Licking his lips, he beckoned the man upstairs as their eyes met. 

The man was seated at the bar, drinking but not drunk, coveted but not responding to offers from men and whores around him, alone and without any company. Yes, he was perfect. 

And now this man was climbing the stairs and coming upstairs to him. Confident strides, milky white skin, blue green eyes, a lopsided smile on his cupid bow lips, his hairs a mass of shiny dark curls around his face, there was something arresting about this man even though he wasn’t conventionally handsome. Jim liked that too, people who stood out in the crowd rather than blend in. 

“You must be loaded,” the stranger said in a deep baritone voice. 

“How so?” Jim asked casually. 

“Cordoning off this floor and having it entirely to yourself, it must have cost you at least ten grand.” 

“Maybe. Or maybe it could be fear.” 

“Yeah I agree. Even though you hardly look scary, you are very attractive in fact, there is something about you that spells ‘danger’. It can be very intimidating for some people. In my case it is ‘arousing’.” 

Jim smirked at those words. This man sure had brains, balls and oomph. Just the sort he liked. “Well, I am loaded with money as you correctly pointed out,” he drained the rest of his beer and stood up, “But I am also loaded in other ways. I was hoping that you, in your current aroused state, would help me with the ‘other ways’.” He waited for a reaction but the stranger had amazing nerves and hardly batted an eyelid. “You are expecting to be paid for it, is it?” He asked a little spitefully, frowning at the taller man who, he assumed, was about his age. 

“No,” the other man said, “Being paid makes me a whore and you a client. I’d rather be a prize and you be the conqueror. I was quiet because I wasn’t expecting to be offered something I had been praying so hard for.” 

“Wha….?” 

“I had noticed you before you noticed me. It’s easier to spot a man in an Armani suit with an entire floor to himself than someone sitting at the bar yeah?” 

“Hmmm, for a change I was stumped.” 

“Does that mean I get to choose who tops?” 

“I top you worm. Don’t even go there. But you can choose where.” 

“Beach, there is an old abandoned fishing boat, about five hundred metres from here.” 

“You like the thrills of doing it at dangerously discoverable places huh?” 

“With a self-proclaimed dangerous man. That’s double whammy!” 

***

Jim grunted with each thrust as he plunged into the tight heat of his ‘conquest’ again and again. This man was near virginal there, so exquisitely snug and gripping, yet he was so greedy and willing and pushing back with each thrust no matter how hard he pounded into him. A rare combination and he was the lucky one owning this choice piece of arse tonight. The noises in his head wouldn’t return anytime soon!

“Oh yeaaaah,” his lover screamed, holding on to the boat seat as they tried to stay as low as possible, “Do me harder, gimme all you got gangsta!”

People were walking past the boat, barely fifteen to twenty metres away from where it was moored on the sand. Jim revelled in the moment, fucking the curly haired man with sharp jabs of his hips. All those noises, in spite of the roar of the sea close by, had to be at least faintly audible to the tourists and locals that were around. They could be caught any moment. But that was what thrilled him and gave him a greater degree of arousal and promised him an orgasm so huge it could knock him off his feet the moment it happened. 

“Oh yeah, oh yeah, coming nowwww!” 

Jim watched with muted satisfaction as the taller man came without even a touch to his cock, spilling his pearly fluids on the broken floor of the boat while his exposed arse pushed back one last time on his cock, trying to get him even deeper inside. Jim groaned out with pleasure as everything dimmed around him and he gave in to the flow of semen now rushing to the tip of his cock. The tight channel he was buried in was constricting around him in sharply, spasmodically, it was like his dick was being massaged to perfection as the most awesome friction was produced by his thrusts and pulls. 

Then it was all gone and he gasped and yelped, embarrassed at the sound he made out of frustration. Opening his eyes, he looked down, a bit disoriented, and screeched out with sensations as hot mouth replaced the tight arse he was inside. 

“Ohhhh,” he doubled over as his orgasm hit him full force, “Oh fuck that is….” 

“Mmmmm,” his lover hummed with pleasure as he swallowed everything Jim had to offer, even sucking him harder to get the last few drops of juice out of his cock. This was true milking, he wondered in his fuzzy head, using both his hands to grip the soft curls.

His knees were wobbly, his head spun and he had trouble staying upright. It had been a while since he had come this hard and he was unprepared for the moment of imbalance it created. Heavy wheezing breaths came out of him and he almost fell sidewards.

Maybe this man didn’t need to be killed…..

“Jimmy, baby are you okay?” 

“Uhnnnn….” 

“O God, you are sweaty and, fuck, I think we overdid it.” 

His clothes were adjusted and suddenly Jim found himself being carried bridal style from there. He put his arms around the man carrying him and whimpered, “This….this is so undignified! You promised to stay in character you fucking asshole.” 

“I did, till you came I did, and then you were having something like a grand mal seizure. What do you expect me to do then? Your little game isn’t so important for me. My concerns about you overrode my promise, now be a good boy and let’s go back to our hotel.” 

Jim opened his eyes as he was placed in the car. “Thanks a lot, Sherly,” he said as Sherlock got in beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “For the awesome fuck, for playing stranger in the bar with me and for agreeing to do it in on a boat.”

Blue green eyes looked at him with a slight twinkle in them, “A boat on the beach, with people close by. Anyways, you can thank me with a kiss?” 

“No, not after where your mouth has been,” Jim replied with a look of mock distaste. He evaded the kiss that Sherlock tried to give him but didn’t stop him from planting kisses on his cheeks, temple and neck. A soft moan escaped him and he cuddled closer to his lover.

“Not fair,” Sherlock started the car. 

“When we get to the hotel you can top.” 

“Oh well, thank God for small mercies.” 

“Sherly?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“I loved it when you called me gangsta! I like pirates too. Can you wear an eye patch and a fake French beard when you fuck me into the mattress?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed, “All right Jimmy, you are the pampered one. As you say!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry couldn't post the last four stories of this series in September. But will post them over this week for sure. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting and all the kudos!


	28. Day 28 - The Morning After (Drunk Night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up with a hangover, with no memories of the night before and finds it strange that he is being treated so well despite his drunken shenanigans 
> 
> (Based partly on a very common joke about drunkard husbands)

Sherlock woke up with a top-grade headache. He groaned and rolled over, trying to shield his eyes.

The room was mostly dark, with the drapes on all the windows shut meticulously, but the little light that seeped in through the open door was enough to cause shooting pain to his eyeballs and even the back of his head. In fact, his entire skull throbbed. 

As minutes passed and the discomfiture lessened, he became more aware of his immediate surroundings. He was lying on clean, soft, warm sheets, a snowy comforter was pulled up to his chin, pillows had bee placed around him to give him a comfortable ‘nest’ effect and….and he was naked under all those arrangements. Sherlock opened his eyes with some difficulty and the first things he noticed were aspirins and two tall glasses of water on the nightstand, right next to fresh flowers in a vase and a small note next to it. Whoa, there was even a small gift box next to the two glasses. 

He downed the pills and the water and let out a long exhale. He needed the water. His throat was parched. 

Stretching his arms, he sat up and the room spun a little around him. Cursing softly he got out of bed, his senses slowly kicking into gear and his memories from the previous night surfacing at the same time. 

He was in Mycroft’s casa. This was a guest bedroom he had sometimes stayed overnight in. 

The Baker street flat was being repainted. Jim and he were staying with Mycroft for a week. Last night was their first night here. He had been to a party. A Scotland Yard party. They had made him drink way too much and after that….he remembered nothing. Maybe a vague memory that suggested that DI Lestrade had extricated him from the clutches of two horny women officers and bundled him into his car. 

No, he didn’t remember anything after that. 

Shit, what about Jim? Jim hated to see him drunk, addicted, trashed, inebriated, in anything but his senses, especially when he was partying alone. It was an unspoken agreement between them, he could have his fun but he was supposed to be in his senses. 

And he was not! Jim would be mad. 

But then…what explained that he had been put to bed so lovingly, the pills, the water, the flowers, the note, the gift. 

Sherlock brought his hand down and pinched his thigh, yelping when he felt the sting. “I am awake,” he concluded as he picked up the gift and the note. The gift was a Cartier watch and the note was a short and sweet one that warmed his heart. 

‘Good morning Sherly. I had to get to work by nine today and couldn’t cancel the appointment, so I am leaving this note for you. Sorry for not being there when you wake up but I will come home by four and we can enjoy the entire evening by ourselves. Take rest, recover from the night and do wear the watch I chose for you. I love you so much my Sherlylocks – Your Jim’. 

“Good Lord,” Sherlock padded into the bathroom, “I thought he should be angry with me.” 

More pleasant (and befuddling) surprises awaited him in the bathroom. He found toothpaste already squeezed on to his toothbrush, his phone already plugged into the charger, the water heated, even a thermos of strong coffee next to the sink so he could drink the brew while he shaved. Jim had done everything possible to make him comfortable. But he had returned home drunk and disorderly the night before and that meant trouble with Jim, not this scenario, not this display of love and tenderness and concern. What the hell was he missing? 

***

“Hey Myc,” he greeted his brother who barely acknowledged his presence with a brief nod. 

“Sherlock,” the older Holmes said, remaining buried in the newspaper he was reading. The detective took his seat and kept looking at his brother but Mycroft didn’t even look up from that paper. 

Sherlock’s breakfast had been served and he was feeling rather hungry by then, so he waited till he had eaten a little and the housekeeper had left the dining room before he posed the question he was itching to ask his sibling. “Erm Mycroft, I wanted to ask you about last night,” he began, taking a huge gulp of his sweetened tea, “I got quite drunk at the party and came back rather late, much later than I had promised Jim. But I don’t remember anything after that.” 

“Good that you don’t.” 

“Was it that bad?” 

“Worse than I have ever seen you.” 

“Huhhh!” 

“When Greg deposited you at my doorstep you refused to let Jim or me to take you upstairs because you wanted to talk to the unicorn. Incidentally the ‘unicorn’ is the statue of the horse kept at the foyer. When I tried to forcibly move you, you pushed me out of the way and fell on Jim, knocking him to the ground. Then you tripped on the first step and threw up on the second. When Jim tried to lift you, you refused to cooperate and tore the chain around his neck.” 

Sherlock groaned, “No….” 

“Yes and that’s not all. You thought the housekeeper was a Hogwarts professor and asked her to turn into a cat.” 

“But then…Jim acted so nice, I mean he has clearly undressed me and cleaned me up, tucked me in, let me sleep in, put flowers and aspirin and a gift on the nightstand, a really sweet note as well….I don’t understand how….!” 

“Oh that,” Mycroft looked up now, bemused and chuckling, “After all those disgusting and dastardly drunken shenanigans, you redeemed yourself nicely with two actions. First, when I rebuked you saying ‘This is just not on’, you misheard me and responded with ‘I am in love with Jim, not John’. I think Jim was beaming when he heard that. Second thing, when he was undressing you, you started weeping and begging not to be touched and said ‘Keep your hands off me ladies, slappers, strippers, I might be drunk but I am still married’. Does that explain his behaviour this morning now?” 

By now grinning from ear to ear, Sherlock dug into his eggs with renewed appetite and said, “For sure it does!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter dedicated to Mickie, whose work '30 days Sheriarty' inspired part of this fic. Please do read her fic for she is a fabulous author!


	29. Day 29 - The Irishman who came to dinner (Prompt - Food)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has invited Jim for dinner but has no idea what the criminal likes to eat

“Mrs Hudson I need your help.” 

“Yes dear Sherlock, when do you not?” The elderly lady’s smirking reply made Sherlock pout and he kicked his foot against the floor like a petulant child. “I am serious,” he insisted. 

“Oh I am sure it is dear boy,” she replied gently, assessing the situation with her experienced eyes and realizing that Sherlock would have never made an appearance at her flat had it not been a matter of grave importance. The last time he had entered her flat was when a crook was trying to kill her with a knife just to get back at Sherlock. “I am all ears,” she added, handing her beloved tenant and near-adopted son a cup of chamomile tea, “So, what is it that have you done this time Sherlock? Who do I have to lie to? Mycroft, John or the cops?” 

“Oh nothing like that, matter is much worse,” he sipped his tea and shuffled his feet. 

“Oh.” 

“You know Jim and I are seeing each other. For about six weeks now.” 

“Yes and I do remember telling you to keep in mind that his profession is….” 

“Mrs Hudson please!” 

“Sorry, do go on please.” 

“I have invited him for dinner tonight. And the problem is, I have never hosted dinner.”

She looked surprised as she made him sit at her kitchen table and pushed a plate of biscuits towards him. “But I am sure you have done that before,” she extended a spoon as Sherlock picked up the sugar bowl, “Two Christmas parties, one Saturday there was a dinner organized and oh yeah, there was also a party last month to celebrate your success on that case in Prague….” 

Sherlock interrupted, “They were all handled by John. He would do everything, from planning the menu, shopping for the items, ordering a few things, cooking what was not being ordered, organize cutlery and stock the bar, he would even store the leftovers and clean up after the guests had left.” 

“I see,” she gave him a teasing look, “What did you do?” 

“I tasted the food and wine, told him if a knife or a fork was a bit wrongly placed, I ate the leftovers the next day, I would also…..okay, okay fine, you got me there. Well, evidently I didn’t do much.” 

“And John is out of town this weekend. So you want me to cook dinner?” 

“No,” Sherlock looked a bit embarrassed, “Maybe yes, no, actually I want to cook and shop and help too, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. But…. But please, make it memorable. This relationship is very important for me.” 

“Hmmm,” his landlady said with a twitch of her eyebrows, “So what does he like to eat?” 

Sherlock was at a loss. Whenever he had met Jim for dates, they had either had sex or done some role play game of criminal and detective, or gotten into some intellectual debate or dissected a case or some corpse. Never had they had a meal together, drinks yes, but no proper meal together. Sherlock had noticed that Jim sometimes ordered in pizza but he couldn’t invite the criminal to his house on a Saturday evening and treat him to pizza, could he? For once, he was clueless and helpless. He shrugged and shook his head, indicating he was totally ignorant of his new boyfriend’s culinary preferences. 

“Then deduce,” came the obvious response. 

“He isn’t easy to read,” Sherlock sighed, “The only food I ever saw him order was pizza.” 

“Then we should just order in pizza. Let the man have what he likes.” 

“Pizza? What? No.” 

“Well, what other alternatives could we look at Sherlock?” 

“He is Irish so I am pretty sure he likes potatoes. Oh yeah, we will cook things which involve potatoes.”

Mrs Hudson looked a bit sceptical, “Maybe you should call him and ask him what he prefers. I mean, people do that all the time when they are invited by someone they don’t know well or who doesn’t know them too well. You could also check if he has any food allergies, or things like gluten and lactose intolerance. I don’t think he will mind that at all.” 

“And prove it to him that I am clueless,” Sherlock protested, “No way.” 

“All right my dear, have it your way. Tell me what to cook.” 

***

By six in the evening Sherlock was practically climbing walls. Food was ready and waiting to be served, he had already bought a very expensive bottle of wine and kept the corkscrew handy so they could start the moment Jim arrived and Sherlock had showered and dressed for the occasion. He wore the colour James loved on him, purple, and combined that with the scarf which was the first gift the criminal had given him. 

Always punctual, Jim Moriarty knocked on the door and stepped in exactly at six thirty pm. Sherlock stopped in his tracks (he was pacing up and down) and looked at the cuteness and hotness that was his Jim, dressed elegantly in a maroon Burberry suit with a silver coloured tie and shiny loafers on his feet. He wore a long coat on top, probably a Gucci creation, to fob off the autumn chill.

In a flash they were in each other’s arms. Sherlock had Jim’s coat and tie off and Jim had opened the buttons of Sherlock’s purple shirt and started licking his chest. Things had heated up enough for their pants to start tenting and Jim automatically tugged Sherlock’s hand and pointed at the bedroom. While Sherlock would have loved to fuck him silly, he was well aware that a hot and fragrant, wholesome and hearty Irish dinner was awaiting them downstairs. That had to be eaten first. 

Mrs Hudson and he had worked together to prepare food containing lots of potatoes (the Irish love potatoes, Sherlock had known that all along) and dishes with lean cuts of fish and seafood in it. There was a dish called boxty which was a sort of pancake like thing that contained mashed and raw finely grated potatoes, there was a dish of mashed potatoes, kale and cabbages, there was a three-fish stew with potatoes in it again, there were seared scallops and there was a dish of clams. “Hon, we will do this later,” he said softly, “First let’s have dinner shall we now.” 

“I am hungry for you, not food,” Jim was climbing all over him. 

“I know. But after a long day’s work, whenever we have sex you doze off for a couple of hours and….” 

“Sherlock I need you to fuck me.” 

“Okay, it’s a promise as soon as we eat.” 

Jim pouted, “Not fair.” 

“So, what sort of food do you prefer Jimmy….” 

Sherlock had begun that statement as a prelude to boasting about how he had rustled up Irish delicacies which Jim must be dying to eat since he had his last holiday at Dublin, but things went pretty much south after that. Jim looked at him balefully and quipped, “I don’t like potatoes and I can’t have seafood. Allergic medically to the second and allergic to the first because I was raised on potatoes and more potatoes. When you have so much potatoes while growing up you are either addicted to them or you hate them.” 

“And you…ehehehe…..hate them huh?” Sherlock had paled, “Allergic to seafood too, like clams and scallops?” 

“Oh yeah, I’ll break out in a rash and you’ll have no fucks from me, unfortunately.” 

The initial moment of dismay over, Sherlock’s quick and sharp mind rustled up a quicker solution. Remembering Mrs Hudson’s wise words ‘Let him have what he likes’, he wrapped his arm around Jim and whispered huskily, “Maybe you were right baby. We should have sex first and let you snooze for a little while. Dinner can wait till nine. Hey, how about we have pizza when you wake up?” 

//So I can sneak out and order pizza and also ensure Mrs Hudson doesn’t show up with the trays and bowls as I had asked her to//

Jim, unaware of his lover’s jittery moments, merrily waltzed into the bedroom and giggled, “Pizza sounds awesome Sherly. I don’t get to eat much of that really so I was hoping we’d have pizza tonight. Pepperoni and cheese, jalapenos and olives, golden corn and mushrooms, thin crust, crunchy yummm! And here I was worried you would end up cooking typical Irish fare at home for our dinner tonight.” 

Typical Irish fare, indeed! A rather red-faced Sherlock offered a queasy smile to his lover as he started thinking about possible excuses to offer to Mrs Hudson about why she should dispose of the five hours of work they had invested in since the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pizza is the rescue food for so many of us :) Thanks a lot for reading this series. One more update to go!


	30. Day 30 - Three is Company (Prompt - ménage à trois)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Sherlock have been sharing Jim till Jim realizes what Sherlock really thinks about Sebastian

“Sherly….” 

“Jim you’re awake.” 

Jim rolled over and cuddled into Sherlock who was sitting up against the headboard with the sheets pulled up to his waist, texting away full blast and eyes glued to his phone screen. They had had three rounds of sex a while ago and Jim had fallen asleep, leaving a sleepless Sherlock to continue whatever he was doing right before Jim had paid him a visit. It was critical to complete that task and while Jim slept, he had thankfully managed to finish it successfully. He felt relieved now but still a bit dazed from the adrenalin rush of it, making him stare a little blankly at his lover. “Enough of that,” Jim snatched the phone and tossed it to the foot of the bed, “Of course I am awake, so instead of stating the obvious thing and looking like me like a gawking idiot why can’t you just talk to me….hold me?” 

“I was texting Sebastian.” 

Jim blinked, “Why?” 

“It’s just….no forget it, I am being stupid and sentimental.” 

“Tell me.” 

“You will poke fun at me.” 

“TELL ME.” 

“I didn’t want him to come to harm. Well, I just found out that he was being stalked as he prepared for his hit so I was giving him the coordinates of his enemies.” 

Jim jumped up, agony and fear washing over him. Seb, his Sebby, no no no, this couldn’t be. “Then complete it damn it,” he handed Sherlock back his phone, “Forget me and just do it, keep him safe, or tell me what it is that I missed.” 

“You missed nothing,” Sherlock said with a sigh, “It was Scotland Yard, last minute tip off. But it’s over now and Sebby will be here soon to pick you up.” 

Jim breathed out audibly with relief, “Why did you save him? I thought you disliked him because he and I are involved, always will be. Why are you suddenly being an angel? I thought you told me you might be on their side but you will never be one of them!” 

“Some things can’t be discarded Jim,” Sherlock said as he ruffled the criminal’s hairs, “Some people too. He is a nice man, brave and loyal, nicer than I am, as fierce and bold as John, as sexy as you, as clever as any man who knows that it’s better to share his man than to lose him completely to another.” 

“You like him?” Jim squinted, "Oh dearie me, you like the big log!"

Sherlock didn’t answer. Seconds later the doorbell rang and he said softly, “The colonel.” 

Jim listened to the two men talking outside, he even heard a light banter and some chuckles here and there and a strange, adorable, dreamy world beckoned out to him. It was a world where he didn’t have to choose between Sebastian and Sherlock. He could have them both and what was even better, they could have each other. They would have each other’s back and also be each other’s company and support should anything happen to him. 

Oh yes, that was the best plan! Him, Sherlock and Sebastian, a ménage-a-trois where they spent quality time together, shared at least one common residence, and also hooked up separately when all three were not available at the same place and the same time. Sherlock would surely show Sebastian to be less insecure about Jim and more insightful when it came to understanding situations and people while Sebastian could help perfect Sherlock’s shooting skills and also train him on hand to hand combat, even show him a few hot tricks in bed. And Jim would have not one but two men beside him, so he wouldn’t have to miss one of them while he was with the other. 

Oh yes, that sounded like a plan!

But for now, he had to keep Sebastian back at Baker Street that night. To get his tiger to acquire a new taste, he needed to give him that taste first.

“Aaaaahh…..ouuuuuchhh,” he screamed, patting himself on the back for the purrrfect way he had emulated a pained screech. 

His men came rushing into the room. Sherlock asked 'Are you shot?' while Sebastian was a bit more grounded with 'Pulled a hamstring Jimmy?'

“Neither! My back hurts,” Jim moaned, “Can’t get up. Sebby, we need to stay here tonight, please!” 

“Um….you can of course stay here but I should probably go back….” 

“No,” Sherlock said, “No you stay please. What if he gets worse at night….I mean the pain.” 

“If you don’t mind.” 

“I don’t at all.” 

“I’ll sleep on the couch….” 

Jim jumped at the opportunity, whining in a sly manner, “No, not at all. I will take the couch tonight. It’s harder, firmer and comfy, much better for someone with a backache. This mattress is too soft. I can’t sleep here. Be real darlings and share this bed for a night, just tonight. I am absolutely positive I will be much better after some rest and we can go back to my flat tomorrow.” 

Though taken aback, none of them had a heart or an option to object. If Jim took the couch then the only option for the two others was to share that bed. After all Jim was hurting and he didn’t deserve to be compromised. Sherlock even offered Sebastian a change of clothes from his own closet and both he and the sniper missed out on the cunning look that crossed Jim’s narrowed eyes. 

***

“Let’s do this,” Sebastian said. He looked at a clearly nervous Sherlock who was trying to feign nonchalance, “We will face it together.” Sherlock nodded and swallowed. 

The moment they stepped out of the room they were greeted with the sight of Jim dressed in an oversized shirt and shorts that reached up to his knees. The lovely aroma of breakfast and coffee on the kitchen table distracted them momentarily but Sherlock elbowed Sebastian and made him turn back towards Jim. The criminal sat on the couch, looking at them curiously but in total silence. It was impossible to deduce what he was thinking right now, not with that completely neutral expression on his face. 

Never before had two tall man been so intimidated by a waifish little guy. “Hey Jim, I was saying….we were saying…..actually we were….” Sebastian began but the moment his eyes met Jim’s he couldn’t continue. He cleared his throat, then looked helplessly at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the sniper who snarled at him, making the detective quickly add in his two cents which, in true essence, was not more than two cents. “Jim we wanted to tell you something and the sooner the better, let’s not linger, Seb and I, me and Seb, I mean we both……the two of us….”

“Quit the stutter,” Jim snapped. 

Sherlock took a deep breath and grabbed Sebastian who was slowly inching towards the door. “Okay here goes….we had sex last night.” 

This revelation was followed by total silence. 

Sherlock looked at his feet, bracing himself for the storm. 

Sebastian braced himself for another cut or slice through his skin. 

The reaction, when it came, stunned them both. Jim started laughing. Yes, laughing. And loud and delighted laughter. 

“What?” Sherlock looked amazed, “You aren’t dumping me?’ 

“You aren’t going to stab me?” Sebastian asked in a similar incredulous voice. 

“No, O God no, why should I when I finally have what I want,” Jim kept giggling and chuckling as he grabbed their hands and made them sit down on the couch, placing himself in the middle, “I heard the sounds, at one point I think one or both of you fell off the bed as well, then you guys sat up talking for a long time, then you went at it again. Now Sherlock has a big sucking bruise on his neck and a black eye and Sebastian has scratches on his chest. Am I right or am I right?” 

Sebastian gasped, “How do you know?” 

Sherlock laughed this time, prompting the sniper to snap at him, “Now what’s so funny Mr. Detective?” 

“He did this on purpose,” Sherlock smiled, pulling Jim closer, “This little devious thing is far more manipulative than even I thought. He got us into one room for the night, knowing fully well I have a flavour for dangerous men and Sebastian would appreciate a change of taste from time to time. This is his way of keeping us on short leash and also to have both of us at the same time. So forget about being angry, I think our Jim is ecstatic that we jumped each other’s bones on the very first night and he doesn’t have to feign a backache and sleep alone on the couch anymore.” 

Jim jumped up and did a perfect backwards arch, “Backache, what the fuck, what is a backache? Anyways, you guys should have understood by looking at my clothes. Sebby’s shirt and Sherlock’s shorts.” 

Sebastian got up and pulled both men closer, kissing Jim’s lips and Sherlock’s long neck. “And I get not one but two crazy, annoying, eccentric smartasses to manage.” 

He paused and looked at their bewildered faces, then added with a smirk, “I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly a married couple and their lover living together which is a proper ménage à trois, but I consider MorMor as practically a married couple so this is....acceptable!
> 
> Thanks for reading and being with me on this Sheriarty journey! This update brings the series to an end!

**Author's Note:**

> Some chapters are explicit maybe but overall this is pretty tame. Hence the mature tag. Stories are of all kinds, fluff, smut, humour, drama, intrigue, alpha omega, horror, darkness and even a deathfic or two. Please read with caution and skip if you don't appreciate a certain content. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own anyone, characters belong to Conan Doyle and to BBC, Moffat and Gatiss. I am merely playing with them a bit.


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